The Shackled Ice
by hooded mage
Summary: The world turns against Winterhold, and the skies turn dark. A hold stands against a nation. Allies are summoned, and armies made. Blood freezes on the ice, and fear freezes men's hearts.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N I have seen quite a few good Winterhold FanFics recently, and I have decided to try my best to add to that count. If you like it, or if you don't like it, as the case may be, please feel free to review and tell me your opinions.**

**By the way, the main character shall be introduced next chapter. This one is just to set the scene.**

Ice and bones crunched underneath Fornice's boots as she stomped her way down the winding tunnels of The Chill. It was two-thirty in the morning, and she was not a happy woman. Her brown hair stuck up at all angles, despite her best attempts to tame it in the scant few minutes she had to get ready. The bags under her eyes betrayed her need of sleep, but those were the only things. Her stride was long and confident, and her robes, cloak and hood were immaculately neat and tidy, despite the harsh wind that had attempted to knock her over during her long march from the College down to The Chill. She held a torch high and far from her cloak. After an accident several months ago, she never let flames get anywhere near her fur trimmed attire. An aged man with a white beard struggled to keep up with her long stride. He wore more simple clothes than Fornice, but his air demanded the same respect. He held his torch high, more to do with the fact that The Chill gave him the creeps and he wanted to see as much as possible so nothing could sneak up on him, than the fact that he wanted to keep his clothes unlit.

After several moments of rambling through the ice cave, the pair emerged into a well lit cavern with a pillar of ice in the centre supporting the roof, also made of ice. Light reflected off everything in the room, the blue roof and pillar, so smooth yet with so many dents and grooves that the light shone and glittered in scattered patterns. The occasional bleach white skeleton offered a contrast to the predominant blue, and Fornice tried not to wonder who they used to be.

Tolfdir, the old man, stopped and looked around. An unpleasant sense of nostalgia crept over him as he remembered the three months he had spent in that very room when he was young.

Three cages sat in the room, two relatively near each other, and another slightly apart from the rest. Fornice was already half way across the room before Tolfdir snapped out of his daze and raced after her, but, before he managed to take more than two steps, a huge behemoth of frost, snow and ice stepped out infront of him. Tolfdir yelled and back pedalled himself up against a wall. Fornice turned around looking wide eyed for the danger, her eyes wide and fearful. After a few seconds of confusement, she relaxed and simply looked at Tolfdir with one of her famous 'I-am-not-best-pleased-with-you' looks.

''Tolfdir, how many times do I have to tell you that the Frost Atronach's will only attack escaped prisoners?'' She said, with her scowl turning into an amused grin.

''No need to talk to me like a child, Fornice. He simply caught me by suprise,'' he said while standing up, patting the Atronach.

''Yes, old man. How could I ever think of you as a child?'' She said.

''No need to be rude, either.''

''I can say what I like, I'm the Arch-Mage, after all.''

''And I'm about five times your age, so I can use the 'respect your elders' card.''

The mood suddenly turned serious as the pair realised they were being watched.

The three cages each held a prisoner, all of them Nords, and all of them mages. Fornice sat on a chair positioned so that she could see all prisoners at once. Tolfdir sat directly to her left.

''Well?'' Asked Fornice to the three prisoners after a few moments silence.

''Well, what? What do you want from us?'' Said the one in the cage seperate from the other two. Fornice noticed a distinct ribbon of red around the mans collar.

_Fire mage,_ she thought to herself.

''You know perfectly well. You were caught trying to smuggle valuable items out of my college, amongst them was the priceless Staff of Magnus. Who are you working for?''

''We work for no one.'' This came from the man in one of the other cages. His collar sported a deep blue. A shock mage, to be sure.

''You expect me to believe that you came here and stole a very recognisable artifact which very few people would even consider holding, and you didn't have a garunteed buyer? Who are you working for?'' There was a long silence while the prisoners looked at the floor. Fornice slowly stood up, pulled back her hood and looked each prisoner in the eyes. After a few moments, she sighed and looked up at the ceiling. ''You know, the Ice Fields aren't technically part of Skyrim, so no laws apply here.'' She leaned towards the Fire Mage. ''I can use any methods I want, and no one can do a thing about it.'' She remained looking at the Fire Mage, when he suddenly rushed at the bars, his brown eyes wide open, and his mouth split into a nasty grin. While instinctively jumping back, Fornice noticed his black hair was more messy than hers, a sure give away of the amount of time he had spent out in the open before the robbery. At the sight of her leaping back, the mage started to laugh.

''My mother might have something to say about it.''

Regaining her composure, Fornice relpied. ''Oh, and who might she be, a minor Nord land owner who thinks she owns the Empire, a Jarl's steward who thinks she has real power?''

''No, my mother has more power than your pathetic College ever will.''

''Ha! So she's a hedge witch who thinks her petty spells can take over a college of mages.''

''No! I was not talking about magic. My mother is High Queen Elisif.'' Fornice visually paled at these words. She now knew where she had seen those eyes. She had been to Solitude many times, and one of them was when the Jarl and her sons had gone on a march. The Fire Mage must be Bjornrick, and the Shock Mage would be Fjell. That means the last one, the one who had not spoken the entire interview, must be little Sunhal. Judging by his light blue collar, he was an ice mage. Once again, Fornice had to quickly collect herself.

''It matters not, you will never escape here. Now, you will tell me why you were stealing from my College, or you will suffer pain unimaginable.'' The only response that Fornice got was for Fjell to spit at her feet. She turned to glare at him, before grabbing Tolfdir and storming out of the cavern, her hair matting even more as she went.

* * *

High Hrothgar was filled with an unfamiliar noise that evening; conversation. Usually, one of the Greybeards would be heard practicing his Thu'um, or even one whistling to himself as he stirred a pot of apple and cabbage stew, yet this evening actual words spoken by the Masters could be heard.

Master Borri and Master Einarth stood side by side in the grand entrance of High Hrothgar. All of their attention was focused on Master Angeir and Master Wunfarth's conversation at the far end of the hall.

''You have lived with us here for nigh on sixty years. Why would you want to leave now?'' Boomed Arngeir. The three other Greybeards were all slightly jealous of Arngeir. He could speak without setting off an earthquake, something the others could not learn. He said that it was a matter of him mastering his Thu'um, but the others knew it was something more.

''I have grown old. My time will be up soon, and I want to make a difference to this world. For too long I have been here, I can barely remember anywhere else, and now I need to see the world again, to teach the Way of the Voice to others outside these walls.'' Master Wunfarth could only talk in whispers. As he spoke, the mountain gave out loud rumbles, and loose stones tumbled into the courtyard outside. If he spoke any louder, High Hrothgar would be burried under rock and rubble.

''You cannot leave! No Greybeard has ever left the order-''

''And no Greybeard has ever gotten involved in politics, but look what happened last year.''

''That was different, you know that.''

''And maybe I am different. I need to leave, or my soul will never be at rest.''

''I forbid it. I-''

''Enough!'' Roared a voice that came from nowhere and everywhere. Only Master Arngeir knew to whom that voice belonged. ''You cannot force a person to do what you believe is right. You shall let Master Wunfarth leave, and you will bestow upon him the blessing I bestowed upon you.''

''But master Parthuunax, I do not know how,'' whimpered Master Arngier.

''Find it within you.''

''That was Parthuunax, our leader?'' Asked Master Borri, in the same hushed tones as Master Wunfarth.

''Yes. Master Wunfarth, I am ashamed of my actions, let me bestow upon you a shout that will allow you to speak as I.'' To this, Master Wunfarth simply bowed his head.

''BONAAR HIN ZUL!'' Shouted Master Arngeir. A purple force bursted from his being and slammed into Master Wunfarth, who staggered backwards several steps. ''Speak, Master.''

Master Wunfarth made several chocking noises, until he said, ''I can talk.'' No longer in a whisper, but in a true human voice. Master Borri, and Master Einarth, exchanged glances and turned back to the scene.

''You can indeed,'' said Master Arngeir in a cold tone. ''You are now no longer a Greybeard. You may keep your robes and a few items from the donation chest outside the Monastery, but nothing more. Leave now, and do not return.'' Master Wunfarth stared in wide eyed shock before slowly, very slowly he opened the wide oak door and stepped outside.

The air was freezing, far below zero, yet Master Wunfarth did not feel a thing. He walked to the edge of the crumbling cliff face and looked down.

''FEIM ZII GRON!'' He shouted. His body baecame translucent and faint blue. He stood on the edge for a moment, and then he jumped.

* * *

''So, how are we going to escape?'' Asked Sunhal, the ice mage, rather timidly.

''I'm working on it.'' Sanpped Bjornrick, angrily. Since Fornice and Tolfdir had left, Bjornrick, Sunhal and Fjell had tried every imaginable way of escaping, short of blowing up the cages, with them right in the centre of the blast.

''By the Eight, if only that Altmer bitch hadn't found us, we'd be in Hjaalmarch by now, enjoying a final stop in Morthal before giving our well earned loot to mother,'' said Sunhal.

''It kinda was our fault. I mean, it was a bit adventurous to steal the Staff of Magnus from under their noses,'' said Fjell.

'' Would mother even be proud of us?'' Asked Bjornrick.

''Of course she would. She always complains her sceptre looks like something dragged from the docks compared to the Jagged Crown. Having the most powerful staff in Tamriel as her sceptre, now that would be something,'' said Fjell.

''But stealing one. Doesn't that seem a bit low?'' Asked Sunhal.

''What it is would out weigh how we got it. It's not like the College could do anything about it,'' said Bjornrick.

''Well, there's no way we'll be able to get it for her now. It's safely tucked away back in their vault, as well as double the amount of guards guarding it. Our plan was perfect, every detail accounted for, except the fact that the gate closes behind us. How were we meant to know that? And then that woman, Faralda, or something, happens to be walking by. I mean, who walks around at two in the morning? Bloody college mages,'' ranted Bjornrick. His brothers didn't know how to respond, so they simply sat down in their filthy cages.

Bjornrick slumped to the bottom of his cage. He felt dirty, and he also felt ashamed for what he did, yet he would never let his brothers know that. He wrapped his red-rimmed cloack around himself to keep out the cold, but the specially tailored cloak was made for the mild climate of Solitude and Haafingar, not the inhospitable sub-zero wasteland that was the Ice Fields. The only thing that stopped him shivering until his teeth fell out was the warm currents of pyromancy that flowed through his veins. He looked around the bleak cavern, pushing a shock of black hair out of his eyes. He stared at his brothers for several moments, before counting himself lucky.

Sunhal did not feel the cold at all. His years of practicing ice magic meant that his body no longer felt the affects of the numbing cold, rather it just made him feel like there was some great power flowing around him, occasional seeping through his cloak into his body. He felt strong, stronger than he ever felt in Solitude.

Out of all of them, Fjell felt the worst. His face dripped with cold sweat, which froze on his nose and cheeks, chilling his face until he couldn't say with any form of certainty that it was even there at all. His long blonde hair was matted with dirt and ice that wrapped itself around his neck like a dirty scarf. His body shook and convulsed, and his skin was paler than the ice that encased them. He didn't have the warmth in his blood, nor the aptitude to ice. All he knew was shock magic, and that did nothing to protect himself from the freezing depths of The Chill.

Fjell was dying, and they all knew it. Bjornrick tried casting a weak flame spell on him, but all that did was singe his cloak and melt the ice on his face.

''Bjornrick, stop trying, if I am to die in here, then that is what I must do,'' said Fjell through chattering teeth.

''Don't say that! We will find a way out, we will...'' Bjornrick trailed off as his eyes looked across the room at the Frost Atronach stomping this way and that at the far end of the room.

''Do any of you feel that?'' Asked Bjornrick, rubbing his hand across the door of the cage.

''I-I think so,'' said Sunhal. ''It's like a resonance deep inside, but far away. It's only here, but it's all around me.''

''What is? I can't feel anything,'' said Fjell.

''Magicka, my brother. We can feel Magicka. But, there is a question we must ask ourselves. Did we feel the Magicka when we came in?'' Said Bjornrick, with a look of excitement on his face. The were several moments of silence, before Fjell said, simply and correctly,

''No.''

''And there we have it. With the scant knowledge that we have of this place, we can safely state that the Magicka that, I am asumming here, stops us from damaging the cell, only works from the _inside,_'' laughed Bjornrick, almost jumping up and down with excitement.

''So? There is still no one out there that knows where we are, well, not anyone willing to rescue us,'' piped up Sunhal.

''You seem under the impression that the being letting us out of these cages needs to willingly do it.'' After saying this, Bjornrick turns to look at the Frost Atronach that was still stomping around the cavern. The other two turned to look as well, and soon caught on to the idea.

''But-but how?'' Asked Sunhal.

''I have a plan. It's going to be risky, but it just might work,'' said Bjornrick. Before anyone could say anything else, Bornrick had a ball of flame in his hand and was carefully aiming it. The two others stared in shock as the Firebolt flew through a gap in the cage and slammed into the side of the Atronach, melting a fist sized hole in its abdomen. It didn't react, not even a stumble in its step could be seen. Bjornrick, starting to doubt his plan, prepared another Firebolt.

''No, it's too dangerous. Don't do it!'' Shouted Fjell, rattling the bars of his cage. Sunhal joined in with his brother's shouts of protest. Bjornrick, deaf to the protests of his brothers, let the Firebolt loose. Once again, nothing happened, the Atronach just kept stomping around in his never tiring ronds. Bjornrick, still not giving up, launched another one. His aim was true, and it slammed in exactly the same spot as the first one.

At first Fjell and Bjornrick thought that that Firebolt had done nothing, had only been failed attempts like the previous two, but Sunhal knew better. He knew that it took three attempts of violence to provoke anger from a summoned creature. He knew that the behemoth of frost would soon turn and try and attack his brother. He also knew that there wasn't a thing he could do about it.

With more grace and speed than Bjornrick thought was possible for a creature that size, the Frost Atronach had slammed itself into Bjornrick's cage. The metal bent dangerously inwards, and several bolts and chunks of ice flew in all directions. Bjornrick ran to the back of his cage, making sure he was ready to run. The atronach recoiled back and charged once more, splitting several bars on the cage. All three brothers knew the next hit would mean everything.

It came with more force than the other two. The rusted metal almost exploding on the impact. Bjornrick was ready for this moment, and he cast his most powerful Fireball at the atronach, who had staggered itself on the impact. Sunhal and Fjell felt the great wave of heat wash over them as the monster was reduced to nothing in seconds. Each of them let out a breath they didn't know they were holding, and Sunhal and Fjell both cheered loudly.

Bjornrick wasted no time in blasting the locks off of his brothers cages, and each of them ran across the room, but before he could take more than a few steps, Fjell collapsed to the ground. The cold had seized up his legs, so Sunhal and Bjornrick carried him, despite him telling them to leave him behind.

It took them a good ten minutes to get through all the tunnels, with their labyrinthian twists and turns. About half way through, the blood began to flow through Fjell's legs once more, due to a constant stream of heat from Bjornrick. All three of them thought that they had done it, that they had escaped and could make their way back to Solitude, to home. Little did they know how wrong they were.

The three almost collided into the first of the Atronachs waiting for them outside the cave. None of them expected to face more of those monsters. They believed one was enough to take care of most criminals.

The first one raised its fist and smashed it down on the ground, right where they had been standing seconds before. The three of them ran in different directions, being seperated while being attacked is never a good thing.

Sunhal was the first to go. He threw everything he had at them. Frost Walls, Blizzards, Ice Spikes, but none of them did a thing. Frost spells do not work against creatures of ice. He decided to run rather than be killed, leaving his brothers to their doom never crossed his mind. It was while glancing back that he fell. A loose rock turned his ankle, and he collapsed to the ground. He landed on his back, facing the Atronach. It lifted its heavy mace of an arm and brought it down, hard. Fjell and Bjornrick stopped casting at their foes and turned to see the bloody pulp that was Sunhal's head get repeatedly smashed and hammered. The club-like arm of the monster was awash with red, sticky blood. Tears burned across Fjell's face, but were soon forgotten about when the second Atronach brought its arm down for swing at him. He quickly dodged by rolling to the side, and counteracted with a Lightning Bolt of his own.

During their battle a blizzard had started. These weren't rare in Winterhold, but it did mean the Atronachs became almost invisible, and so it was that they gained the upper hand. Fjell, busy fighting his own Atronach, did not see Sunhal's charging towards him. The howl of the northern wind masked even the heavy footfalls of the momster, so, after shocking his Atronach to pieces, and taking a break to catch his breath, he was picked up and thrown against the ice. This ice had been there for thousands of years, but a 140lb weight thrown at close range by a 10ft beast managed to shatter it into hundreds of pieces. Blood and shards of bone flew from Fjell after the initial impact, but his body simply sank into the waves.

Bjornrick fared better than the other two. His flames melted the Atronachs within seconds, and his first opponent was soon a rapidly freezing puddle on the ice. He knew that another of those things were out there, just waiting for him to make a wrong move. He turned aroud in a slow circle, looking for any sign of the beast. After several minutes, he heard a soft crunch behind him. He instantly span around and launched a Firebolt. At first, he thought it might have been nothing, but the Firebolt briefly lit up the form of the monster. Bjornrick quickly shot half a dozen Fireballs in that direction, which exploded upon impact, melting much of the snow and ice. Several moments passed, until the unmistakable chunk of ice that was the club arm of the monster landed by Bjornrick.

He never found Fjell's body, no matter how hard he tried, and there was nothing left to salvage of Sunhal, so he sat and sobbed for what seemed like hours. When his throat was hoarse and no more tears would come, he stood up, shakily, and turned around. Pulling out his compass he turned to face west-south-west. He took one long, deep breath and started to jog in that direction, towards Solitude.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N Thank you all so much for reading my work, and thank you to those who reviewed. It means a lot to me. I'll try to regularly update, but I do have exams ****coming up, but I will try my best.**

* * *

The Hall of the Elements was filled with jostling people, each pushing, shoving and craning to try and see why they had all been summoned there. All different kinds of mages stood around the hall looking inwards at the magicka fountain, whose power spiralled upwards in a great twisting blue beam. The high windows let in little light, as the grey clouds that fuelled the blizzard outside blocked almost all light from the sun, but the room was not dark as orbs of white light, which the Alterationists liked to remind everyone was their idea, stood underneath each window on small pillars. The robes and sashes of each individual created a myriad of colours across the room. The robes represented their proficiency, from the icy blue and white novice robes, to the purple and burgundy master robes, and the sashes showed what school they belonged to. When Fornice became Arch-Mage, she decided that the different schools of magic needed more focus, so she devised a system where every member was to state their preference, and they would belong to that school, meaning there was a more orderly system to learning and teaching, but it did spark up a rivalry every now and then. Destruction students believing they're superior, and Alteration students paralyzing the lot of them. It was a great source of amusement and drama for most members of the College.

By the doorway, the grey-robed Librarians stood between a group of green sashed Illusionists and blue sashed Conjurers. They wanted to be here less than most, because they had just received a First Edition of _Calcelmo of Markarth's Guide to the Falmer_. The Falmer were constant pests in Winterhold, so understanding them more could save the lives of many a wandering mage.

As the Librarians grumbled to each other, and the Destruction students created element pillars, and the Alterationists cast great balls of light across the room, the door to the Arch-Mage's Quarters swung open, and Fornice stepped forward into the crowd. Those who noticed her politely stepped out of the way, but she had to gentley guide her way through a clump of Librarians in a heated debate over a new shelf filled with Argonian cookery books.

The centre of the room was devoid of all people, so one by one the people in the room went silent as Fornice took slow, gliding steps across the hall. Her blue velvet cloak shimmered and swayed with each step, and the snow fox fur on her hood ruffled in the drafts blowing around the room. She lifted her robes to show plain white boots as she stepped up onto the raised dais that the fountain stood upon.

''My friends.'' Her voice echoed around the room. It bounced off of pillars, walls, floors and ceilings until it sounded like she was everywhere and nowhere at the same time. She waited a few moments for he echo to subside, until there was complete silence. No one dared to breath. Everyone was waiting. She looked around, smiling at the array of different views and cultures in the College. _Her _College. Pride swelled within her, at everything she and her colleagues had achieved. This morning she had received a letter, delivered by a frightened young boy, and the letter couldn't have contained better news.

''Winterhold is alive. Ever since the Great Collapse, our great city ceased to be. Overnight, three of the city's five districts tumbled into the sea, taking its citizens with it. Only the Gate District and the College remained, and that is all you see now. Our city never rebuilt itself. It stagnated. For eighty years the city has only gotten worse. You can see the empty shells of abandoned houses where citizens have left this desolate corner of the world, but it has changed. For the first time in seventy years, Winterhold has a Thane.'' This caused a wave of whispers to spread across the room. This was huge news. Despite the College being distanced from the town, everyone wanted it to grow. The people of Winterhold blamed the Great Collapse on the College, seeing as it was the one of the few buildings left standing when all others around it collapsed into the sea. The mages insisted that the College survived because of ancient protective magics, and that the Great Collapse most likely happened due to Red Mountain on Vvardenfell erupting, causing far reaching consequences, but the locals, in their grief stricken state, held the College responsible, and the relationship has never been fixed since. Having a Thane meant that Winterhold might at long last be recovering. If the town were to be rebuilt, then the mages may no longer be shunned or feared, but celebrated and rejoiced.

''The letter held more news than that. It spoke of an opportunity we have to rebuild our relationship with the town.'' At this, Fornice pulled out an envelope from a fold in her robes. She flipped it open and pulled out a dull piece of parchment. She cleared her throat and read,

''_Fornice Draconis._

_I, as your Jarl, feel obliged to inform you that I have bestowed the honour of Thane upon one Hoarik Forge-Blazer. He managed to return to me the Helm of Winterhold, an artifact lost for centuries, maybe millennia. He also tracked down the Wispmother attacking the few travellers that brave the hold to get to our city, and stabbed a sword right through her._

_Winterhold has little cause to celebrate, so I have taken this as an excuse to host a rather auspicious festival in the Jarl's Longhouse on Turdas 18th of First Seed. Every citizen of Winterhold is invited, though I would much prefer it if you and Tolfdir were the only representatives of the College._

_Jarl Korir of Winterhold.''_

There were several shouts of outrage amongst the crowd, especially from the more boisterous members of the Destruction school.

''What have we ever done to him?'' Shouted out one member.

''We have as much right to be there as the rest, that pompous stuck up-''

''Enough! I know the letter unfairly states that only Tolfdir and I should attend, but it also says every citizen of Winterhold is welcome, so I want as many of us as possible there, but I swear, if any of you make a fool of themselves, or shine a bad light on the College, you shall not be allowed back inside the gates. Do I make myself clear?'' Everyone responded with quiet mumbles of agreement. ''Good. We need to prove to the people, especially Jarl Korir, that the College isn't something to be shunned or feared, but something to be rejoiced and respected. If we pull this off, then who knows how much we could do with this place. Imagine the business opportunities, the wealth. We could at long last repair the bridge, if you want to start thinking small. Now, that festival is this evening, for those who hadn't noticed. I'm sure sending the letter on the same day as the event was another of Jarl Korir's ploys to get less of us to go, so we need to get ready. Everyone who wants to attend, get ready and make your way to the town post haste.'' With that, Fornice stepped down from the dais, and the members started to file out of the room, talking avidly about the festival. Some, namely the Librarians, thought it was a terrible idea, and were more inclined to stay and bustle through their collections. Others, like the younger students, couldn't wait to leave the College. It was a rare occasion that anyone went across the bridge and into the town, so this was very exciting for them, and nobody wanted to miss out.

* * *

Peric stood in front of the tall mirror in his room, trying to get his emerald coloured sash to fit. No matter how hard he tried, the thing would either suffocate him, or slip off his shoulder and on to the floor. He finally managed to do a decent job, and turned to the side to admire his handiwork. _You'd think after a year of doing this, I'd be able to get the hang of it,_ he thought to himself. He usually got Brelyna to do it for him, but she was busy getting herself ready. He straightened his autumnal robes and smiled at his reflection. His sash clashed wonderfully with the burnt orangey-brown of his robes, much like a tree just at the turning days of Summer into Autumn. His dark brown hair fell to one side, covering one of his equally deep brown eyes. He didn't look much different from most Bretons, but he decided he did a pretty good job with what he had to work with.

''Peric, are you done yet? Onmund and I are waiting. J'zargo left without us, but that cat can freeze on that bridge on his own.'' Peric sighed at the way his friend called after him. Brelyna Maryon was one of his closest friends, yet she did get on his nerves with her constant shouting across the dorm. He glanced round his room to see if he had forgotten anything. He took great pride in his very own little section of the College. His wooden bed was covered with a wolf skin, and another one acted as a rug on the cold, grey floor. A rusty chandelier filled with half melted candles hung from the ceiling, which cast flickering light across the room. A bookshelf in one corner held mostly a collection of oddities and rare ingredients for potions, as well as little knick-knacks and trinkets. An old wardrobe stood in one corner, which contained his spare robes, as well as his more casual clothing. The part he looked after most was his little desk. Inkwells, quills, parchment, paper and charcoal were all neatly arranged around the desk, along with a small pile of papers that were comprised of his research notes on how Illusion spells actually affect living organisms. He shook himself out of his wondering, and he grabbed his satchel that contained his coin purse, dagger and a few potions and walked out of his room.

''I'm ready, don't get all panicky. We're gonna be too early if you make us rush any more.'' He stopped when he saw Brelyna with her eyebrows raised and arms crossed in front of him. Her dark blue Dunmer skin contrasted shockingly with her glowing red eyes that pierced into him. She had curled her black hair, and it fell down to her upper back. It was a rare thing to see her hair, as she usually liked it to be covered by her hood, whose colour incidentally matched her skin. Her yellow Alteration sash was contrasted by her deep blue robes, and her white boots looked almost comical in comparison. Behind her, Onmund stood amused at Brelyna's impatience. Onmund was an oddity also. Not many young Nords studied magic, but he was exiled by his family for following his dream. Behind his cheery face and rosy cheeks, there was much pain, guilt, remorse and regret, yet Peric had only gotten him to talk about it once before.

''Are we going to go or what?'' Asked Onmund, laughing as Brelyna flustered, before she recovered and strode out the door.

The courtyard was filled with mages of all stripes battling the blizzard that howled through the College. Although it was only dusk, the clouds blocked out all sunlight, and only the artificial orbs of white light that dotted the campus, as well as more temporary ones that the mages had summoned, lit the way.

''By The Nine, I didn't expect it to be this bad!'' Onmund tried to shout over the wind, but the other two could barely hear him. They decided to make a run through the curved cloister that circled the snow covered courtyard. A magicka fountain like the one in the Hall of the Elements stood in the centre, but was shadowed by a tall statue of a mage with his arms in the air, like he was summoning the beam of magic from the blue pool bellow. His cloak billowed outwards, like the gale was affecting him just like the living mages.

The bridge was almost invisible to the mages. They had to walk at a snails pace just to make sure they didn't fall off the edge, as parts of the sides had collapsed into the sea bellow. Three tiny magicka fountains dotted the bridge, acting as beacons to warn you when there was a turn. It took Onmund, Brelyna and Peric half an hour, but they eventually stepped onto the slick cobbles of the road that ran through what was left of Winterhold.

* * *

''Come on las, get ya' act together. We got people to serve.'' This was the first thing that greeted Onmund, Brelyna and Peric as the walked into the Jarl's Longhouse. The man was a short dunmer with jet black hair, Malur Seloth, the Jarl's steward. He seemed to be shouting at a buxom bar maid with a tower of drinks precariously balanced on her arm. She wobbled over to a group of senior mages sitting at a table in one corner.

The Longhouse was filled with as much life and energy as a dying town could provide. As soon as the trio walked through the door, they were hit by a wave of noise. Hundreds of people shouting over each other to be heard left little room in their heads to even think. Everybody, even the stodgiest master was enjoying themselves. Only three faces weren't smiling, and all three were up at the far end of the Longhouse. Past the scorching fire pit, underneath the bell tower, sitting underneath the mounted mammoth skulls, were three figures. Each of them mumbling to each other, but not one sported a smile, not even a grin or a smirk. Jarl Korir's long, nordic red hair and trimmed beard framed a solemn and weary face. Lines creased his skin. Onmund didn't want to think how many of them were a mark of a heavy mind, than actual age. Thick eyebrows furrowed above perfectly blue eyes, dull and dead, like the land he ruled over. His attire stood out from others, because of its obvious expense. Fiery sabre cat pelts lined the fine silk and tundra cotton jacket, dyed with deep blue and dusky browns. Worn boots swallowed the hem of his specially tailored trousers. He represented the very image of wealth in the charade of society. To his left sat Fornice, her long brown curls bounced with every move of her head. She seemed to be trying to convince Jarl Korir of something, but his dull expression made it clear he wasn't paying attention. Throughout their conversation, Fornice would take small sips from a goblet of wine, but as her persuading drew on, her sips became gulps, and her goblet became four, until she gave Korir up as a lost cause and turned away from him, her arms crossed over her midnight blue robes, her pink lips pursed into a scowl, and her pale Breton features slightly creased in annoyance.

''Hey, Peric, stop staring at the important people, and lets grab a table.'' Brelyna grabbed Peric's arm and sat him down by a tiny, worn pathetic excuse for a table. He snatched a plate of beef and an ale before looking at the third character. He was of the greatest interest to him, as very few new faces were seen around Winterhold. The man was obviously a Nord, by his extremely pale skin and lips, watery blue eyes and long braided blonde hair. His body was encased in a suit of dented and worn iron armour. Only his pale face and muscular arms showed. Peric rightly assumed that this man was Hoarik Forge-Blazer, the Thane of Winterhold.

''You know, I think Winterhold may actually be going somewhere now,'' said Onmund, raising a tankard to his lips.

''Yeah, soon we'll be just as rich and respected as Dawnstar,'' said Brelyna.

''I wouldn't say soon, but one day we'll be listened to,'' said Peric.

''Winterhold isn't that bad. I mean, we don't starve, and we aren't constantly under attack like some holds are. We can look after ourselves, and we're well defensible,'' Brelyna sat up when she said this, and you could almost see the pride radiate off her.

''I suppose you're right. We could be like Hjaalmarch, after all,'' said Peric.

''I've got an aunt who lives there. She sometimes sends me letters, and that place sounds horrible. No one ventures out onto the marshes there, but no one has to, the marshes venture into Morthal. That's where she lives, you see. It's the only thing representing a capital they have. Why they built a town on the edge of a marsh, I'll never know. They have to fight against disease, poverty and all sorts of nasty creatures just to make it through the day,'' said Onmund.

''If it's so bad there, why doesn't she just leave?'' Asked Peric.

''Trust me, she's thought about it, but she says it's her home, and she can't abandon it now. Every letter tells of something else the guards have to fight. Frostbite spiders, Chaurus, Mudcrabs, Wolves. Everything wants a piece of Morthal, but that's not the worst of it. The last one she sent spoke of something much worse.'' Peric and Brelyna leaned forward in anticipation.

''Vampires.''

''No!'' Shouted Peric and Brelyna together.

''Yes. She told me that all but two of the guards were having to defend the lumber mill. That's their only real source of income, and they couldn't afford to lose that to the blood suckers.''

''But where did they come from?'' Asked Brelyna.

''That's the real mystery. One day, the citizens were woken up to the sound of the war horns. They ran out their houses to see mass panic. Guards charging to meet a dozen monsters in robes, blood dripping from their razor like maws and evil black eyes filled with hunger and rage. If there's one good thing about Morthal, it's that the guards, after having to fight off almost every enemy imaginable, are one of the most powerful fighting forces in Skyrim. They only lost two men fighting the vampires, but Jarl Idgrod said that was partly due to them being in sunlight, and she was right. That night, another eight of the creatures came, but the town mage was there to help, and they only lost one guard. My aunt managed to send the letter to me after about a week of this happening every night. During the day the guards build more and more defences round the mill, and the mage puts up magical barriers, and so far they haven't lost many more men, but as far as I know, it's still going on. They sent pleas to Whiterun, Solitude and Dawnstar, and all of them said they couldn't spare any men.'' Onmund sat back and drained his tankard.

''That's horrible. Why don't they find the lair and wipe them out, though? It would save them a lot of time, money and men,'' said Brelyna.

''I dunno. I guess they're not willing to risk most of the towns guards. Anyway, I'm worried about her, but I don't like thinking about it, so can we talk about something else?''

''Well, I heard the College got broken into recently,'' said Brelyna.

''Brelyna, everyone has heard about the College getting broken into, but it's not that big a deal. They were caught and are now locked away inside The Chill, poor sods,'' said Peric.

''Yeah, but-''

''I have an announcement to make, so may I have silence please.'' The three turned to see Jarl Korir standing in front of his throne. His jacket hung by his sides, swaying in the drafts blowing around the Longhouse. ''As you all know, this is a big day for Winterhold, and I hope all of you are as delighted as I am to welcome this man,'' he gestured towards Hoarik, ''Into our little town.'' He stepped aside while everyone applauded, and Hoarik took his place.

''Thank you, all of you.'' His voice was deep and husky, and Peric noticed Brelyna give a little shiver. ''I've never really had a home. I've been travelling, hiring myself out as a mercenary, but then I stumbled upon this little town, with its bitter cold air, but warm, open people, and I knew that this is where I shall spend my days. Despite me now calling Winterhold home, I have never visited the College of Winterhold, but I will do whatever I can to help you. In fact, this evening I made an agreement with your Arch-Mage that regular guard patrols shall pass through the College, seeing as Jarl Korir has given me free control over Winterhold's guards.'' Peric saw Jarl Korir cross his arms at these words, and Korir's ever downcast features turned into an outright scowl. Peric smiled at the look on Korir's face. The Jarl of Winterhold had only ever looked out for the town, and had gone so far as to shun and reject the College. Peric liked this new Thane. He was not from Winterhold, so he was not affected by old hurts and grudges. A good sign, to be sure. ''To help this town grow, I shall spend what money I have saved over the years to build a smithy here. It'll help to make things to export, so we can finally have an economy. Thank you.'' He stepped back next to Korir, and everyone applauded loudly. They all took very kindly to Hoarik Forge-Blazer, as everyone in that room could see he would bring prosperity to Winterhold.

* * *

Fornice looked down from her place next to Korir at the people, half of whom were _her _people. She was usually a happy woman, always with a smile on her face, and she would always greet any passing mage she saw around the College, but during the end of the evening in the Longhouse, her expression suddenly dropped to one of despair and worry. One of the mages at the College, a Battlemage that had spent her life training to fight with sword and magic had ran down from the College, entered the Longhouse and had whispered into Fornice's ear. _''They have escaped. The thief mages have blasted through The Chill. We found the remains of two of them, but there was no sign of the third. We presume he's headed toward Solitude. He may even have reached it now.''_

Those words were perhaps the worst she could possibly hear. She turned white and started shaking, and for the duration of the two men's speeches, she just stood there, staring, but she knew she had to pull herself together, that she could not show her fear, so she took a deep breath, closed her eyes and stepped forward.

''College mages, as you know, we have not had a head of Alteration for quite a while now, and I have decided that tonight I shall announce my choice. I must say the choice was rather easy, once I thought about it. I know that all of you working in Alteration are skilled and talented, but one of you expressed the flare of passion and creativity that is required in a leader, so can we all congratulate our new head of Alteration, Brelyna Maryon.''

Silence. One by one, the room turned to look at Brelyna, who sat with her mouth open, eyes unblinking. Onmund gave her a quick nudge and a smile which brought her out of her daze. Just like Fornice, she closed her eyes, took a deep breath and stood up. She slowly, so very slowly made her way to the throne. Across the room, scattered applause was heard, which soon spread, until the entire Longhouse was filled with claps, cheers and whistles, especially from Peric and Onmund who had decided to climb on top of the table.

_Me? Why me? I mean, I'm not complaining, but I'm sure there are better. I suppose my treatise on mage armour and its connection to wards was rather good, but a 'flare of passion and creativity'? No, she can't be right, can she? Oh look, I'm almost there. I wonder what I'll have to do now. Wow, head of a school at nineteen. Only Fornice ever managed that. Maybe that's why she chose me, because she doesn't want to be alone. No, that's silly. Wait, are they clapping for me. Don't blush, don't blush, don't blush._

_Damn._

_Well, I guess I should enjoy it. A life of boring meetings and minor rabble handling for me._

''Ladies and gentlemen, this girl shined a light on the proper uses of Alteration. She didn't drone on about how it could theoretically produce x, or under circumstances make y happen. No, she showed us how it can be _used,_ how it can benefit lives of hundreds. She will go on to lead the way, and I couldn't have made a better choice.''

Brelyna walked back across the Longhouse. This time, she was not accompanied by applause, but the sound of people whispering and muttering filled the room. Fornice was still very white, but doing the speech made her calmer than before, and plans to cover up everything were already whirring through her mind.

''YOL.''

Everyone in the room went deathly silent as the shout, that one word, joined by a screech and the beating of wings, drove fear through everybody's hearts. The whole room was lit up by the light of the most intense inferno, as it burned at the other side of town. Suddenly, a guard burst in. His pale blue armour was torn and singed, and he sported a nasty dent on his helmet. In his strong Nordic voice, he managed to pant out one word, the word they all dreaded.

''Dragon.''


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N Thank you all so much for reviewing and reading the story. I am also very sorry for the wait, but I've had exams, and have also been moving house, so I hope you can forgive me.**

* * *

In the blink of an eye the silence and stillness was shattered. People shrieked and screamed, shoving away anybody that stood between them and the underside of a table, or a spot under the stairs. People were trampled by their friends and neighbours, as human, mer and beast instinct kicked in. All people thought about was their survival and escape.

''Guards and militia, file out the door now. It is your sworn duty to protect this town and its people. So The Eight help me, if I find even one of you cowering behind your mother's skirt.'' Jarl Korir bellowed at the contingent of guards that were on duty inside the Longhouse. Several citizens grabbed bows from the armoury in the southern wing, and some others found a sword, axe or knife. They each charged out of the Longhouse, some shouting their battle cries, some shaking and pale, but most throwing up prayers or clasping the amulets of their favoured Divine. Jarl Korir was the last to exit, donned with the Helm of Winterhold, and brandishing his steel greatsword. Next to him, Hoarik had drawn his iron sword, and his dented iron armour never looked so pathetic as he rushed into the snow, to be greeted by shouts of men, and gouts of flame. From his wide eyes and slight stumble in his step, you could see he was nervous, but the stalwart look on his face made it clear that he was willing to prove himself to Winterhold in whatever way he could.

There was silence in the Longhouse. Women and children cowered under stairs, door frames and tables. Admittedly, many women had joined the battle, but most knew nothing of fighting, except for the guards, and the odd barmaid who had to deal with the tavern rabble. While the citizens cowered, the mages all stood up, and slowly walked towards the door, trying to catch as many glimpses of the battle that they could through their narrow portal to the horror outside. Men and women fired countless arrows into the night sky, aiming for a demon of the sky, a target even the famed Aela the Huntress couldn't hope to hit.

Lights started to fill the room, all different colours from all different schools, greens, reds, blues, golds, anything that anyone could muster up that might just have an affect on the dragon. Each light merged into each other, until the whole room was bathed in an ethereal white glow. Each person knew what was expected of them, knew what they had to do, and yet no one wanted to be first. Every eye turned towards Fornice, who looked down at the respect and awe that shone towards her, and she gave one slow, yet decisive nod.

Peric let out his breath, as he came to a realisation of what he needed to do. He couldn't let his town, his friends, his home down, yet he saw no way that Illusion could help against a dragon. Roars and death shrieks echoed around the room. Through the door, everyone saw an entire platoon of guards mown down by a swish of the dragon's tail as it swooped low. The great scaled limb was ashen grey, and could hardly be seen. It was easily twice as long as a man, and anyone caught in its path didn't stand a chance. The entire room silently prayed for the dead, and prayed that Sovngarde held a place for the soldiers, and themselves. Onmund and Brelyna stood tall next to him, her face etched with fear, worry and doubt. She shook, more violently than Peric thought she could, her whole being quaking with the fear of what faced her, yet for all of that, she did not run, she did not hide. She stood with her friends, and she did not back down. Onmund turned to look at her, his normally cheery face downcast and serious. No light or happiness shined in his once bright azure eyes. He had lost so much in his life, and he knew that tonight he would lose more. Out of the shadows stepped a mysterious figure, his white fur gleamed in the light, and the black stripes across his face mixed with his black moustache to form a mysterious camouflage in the now gloomy room.

''J'zargo. Good to see you,'' Peric said to the Khajiit, sarcastically. None of them had seen him the entire evening, so they assumed he must be trying to chat up a village girl. He was the only Khajiit his age in Winterhold, so life was lonely for him, but that never dampened his spirits. He just kept trying with the other races. To be fair to him, several human and elf women found him cute, and he did get lucky once in a while, yet it never amounted to anything.

''J'zargo looks forward to showing that dragon not to mess with Winterhold. It will not even know what hit it, when J'zargo throws his lot in,'' J'zargo said to his friends. Peric looked at him with drooped brows, and a frown.

''J'zargo, don't you know how many people are going to die tonight? Just have some resp-''

''What in Oblivion are you doing? Don't just stand there like bloated horkers! There's a dragon out there that needs killing, and I swear by Magnus himself, we _will _kill it,'' Fornice shouted as she strode towards the door, her locks bounced with every step, and a focused fury was on her face. Many of the younger students, eager for some kind of glory, rushed outside, treating this as some kind of game. The wizards and scholars had all seen terrible things in their days, and they knew the risks of rushing blindly into adventure, but they knew what was expected, and they were not going to let Winterhold burn, so each man and woman took a moment to calm themselves, pray and to raise some kind of magical defence, be it mage armour or preparing a ward spell. No one left unprepared.

* * *

Silence and stillness greeted Peric as he stepped into the cold behind Faralda, a tall Altmer woman with auburn hair, yet she was kind and thoughtful, with perhaps a too powerful streak of competitiveness. She was the Master of Destruction, and also next in line for Master Wizard, so Peric thought it a good idea to stick with her.

''Careful, boy,'' she said, noticing Peric taking a stance beside her, an Ice Spike in each hand. ''Don't stray too far from the rest, else the dragon might see you as an easy target.''

Onmund, Brelyna and J'zargo came and joined Peric and Faralda, each with their own favoured spell, Onmund was like Peric and preferred frost, but Brelyna always had an affinity for fire, and J'zargo never strayed from lightning, claiming it was a 'higher' magic.

Tolfdir scanned the sky, knowing the great lizard was waiting, watching. They needed to know where it was before it made another attack. As the guards, mages and militia all starred up at the sky, or scanned the horizon, he formulated a plan. He knew the dragon was clever, and that it was not only using the night sky, but the blizzard as well for cover, so there was no way of finding it before it was too late.

Except one.

''Where in Oblivion is that thing?'' Bellowed Jarl Korir, the fur cloak on his back flapping in the wind. He was struggling to be heard over the wind, and he soon realised how easy it was for the dragon to remain unheard, as well as unseen.

''My Jarl,'' Tolfdir practically shouted over the blizzard. ''This dragon isn't going to show itself until it attacks. It's waiting for us to let our guard down, which will be any moment. It is the hunter, and we the hunted, but we need to change that around. I have a plan, if you would let me take charge for a few moments.'' Tolfdir was old, and he knew his voice could not stand up to this treatment for much longer.

''Trust mages with command over a fighting force, are you mad, old man?''

''My Jarl, most of this fighting force _are _mages, so let me put them to use.'' Tolfdir was hurt. Mages had done nothing to Winterhold, yet Jarl Korir could not see that, but he did not let his anger show, knowing he could not afford to waste any time.

''Tolfdir, do what you must, but if harm comes to Winterhold for it, you shall pay dearly,'' Jarl Korir said, making sure Tolfdir could hear the venom in his voice.

Tolfdir nodded at Jarl Korir. ''Mages, we need to find this dragon, and we need to kill it, but it's hiding in the shadows, so we need to take those shadows away. Each of you get a spell ready, and when I give the signal, you are to release it in any direction you so wish. I hope I don't need to remind you that fire spells are a foolish idea, and so is aiming it at another person.''

It was as if day had dawned, and the night thrown asunder. Each light blazed with the wanton emotions of each mage, each feeling translated into the beauty that filled the night sky. Fear and anger whirled around each other, taking with them the limp energies of Illusion. Lightning Bolts shot and crackled through the air, the very image of youth. Great globes of white light bounced their way around the other spells, the figures of calm and acceptance, and amongst it all swam the amber lights, the benevolent flames of Restoration, there to show people that peace can, and will be achieved.

The sturdy wooden planks and logs of Winterhold's houses got several new scorch marks and dents that evening, while great holes were blasted through the thatched roofs. Jarl Korir managed to contain his anger, but only just. His face was red, and his knuckles were white as they clenched around his sword. _The College will repair this. All of this._ He thought, as his town was hammered and smashed by the onslaught of spells.

Though each building was scratched and bruised, they were lit up exactly how Tolfdir had planned, and now he, and every man and woman, searched the skies for the dragon. Errant spells that people had cast upwards were still shooting towards the heavens, and Fornice made a mental note to put out a reward for any mage who can find out how far a spell can travel before it dissipates. Everyone looked, but no one saw. It was as if the dragon had simply vanished. He wasn't on top of the mountains, or perched on one of their ledges. He wasn't flying overhead, circling his prey, and he wasn't even by the College. The old grey building looked calm and peaceful.

Peric saw it first, and he stood there in silence. Faralda, Brelyna, Onmund and J'zargo quickly turned to look also, and soon everyone was staring up at it. On top of the Frozen Hearth, one of the largest and oldest buildings in Winterhold, sat the dragon. Its wings and feet ripping huge chunks from the thatched roof, and its mouth was bloody with the feast of whatever victims were once inside the inn.

Quick as a blur, it was gone. A flash of shining scales, yellowed teeth, and bone white spines. Into the night, the lithe lizard flew, twisting his body around air currents, and spiralling itself into clouds for cover.

''Alterationists, light spells at the dragon. Now!'' Brelyna suddenly took her role very seriously, knowing that the other Schools could take it down, if only they could see it.

Each Alterationist knew it was an impossible task for any spell to hit the dragon at the speed it was flying, let alone a light spell. Light spells were well known across Tamriel as one of the slowest spells to go any distance, so no one really used them to track enemies.

But the Alterationists knew better than to anger their knew Master. Each threw all they had into the sky, following the ever decreasing form of the dragon. Hundreds, perhaps even a thousand lights shot into the night, one following the other, as if the spirits of Nirn were rising from the ground, taking with them all evil, and swarming towards the source of the town's destruction.

It didn't stand a chance. Light spells may have been famed for their slowness, but not even a dragon could hope to evade the sheet of them that covered the sky. Like tiny suns all wishing to escape Nirn, to reach their rightful place in the cosmos. Most flew off into the sky, either fading into the night, or fading from existence all together, but a patch on the far corner of the swarm found their mark, each of them latching to the beast with invisible bonds, and no matter how the dragon twisted its body, or how fast it flew, the lights stuck to it, as if they knew that all was lost if they let go. The poor beast screamed its frustration to the night, cursing ancient Alduin and all his kin for not being able to hunt the almost painfully bright sprites attached to its ancient, almost sacred scales.

Brelyna smiled up at the sight. Finally they were getting somewhere. It had lost the power of shadow, and now they had gained the power of light.

Both Jarl Korir and Arch-Mage Fornice were about to shout the same thing, unbeknownst to them that their minds had had the exact same thought process, and perhaps if they had been able to say what they wanted, they would have realised they weren't as different as they first thought.

But no one needed orders. Almost as one, every mage, and every archer shot whatever they had at the great, glowing target. It was as if they were trying to shoot down one of the moons, the way the pale light shone down on mages and soldiers alike, shining light down on the damaged town of Winterhold, but despite the beauty, everyone knew how dangerous that moon could be, so lightning, fire, ice and arrows flew up into the sky.

With one final great roar, the bashed, bruised, burnt and gashed dragon did one final spiral, before it tilted downward and started to plummet, its torn wings fluttered uselessly, its face and snout dripped great drops of burning blood, its left leg was bent impossibly backwards, and so many arrow shafts poked from it, that it resembled some monstrously sharp hedgehog. Before, barely a single arrow hit its target, but now, not only because of the surreal light, but also because each guard had spent hours a day training, most arrows found their mark, and, because of this, many of the citizens and guards found a new respect for magic and its users.

Like a meteor hitting the ground, the dragon landed. It landed right at the edge of the cliff, the border between what stood standing, and what was thrown to the sea after the Great Collapse. Not even the magical bonds that help the lights to the dragon could cope with the impact, and each one was snuffed out, leaving the town shockingly dark.

The great lizard, now a pathetic and ruined sight, clung to the very weakest rocks that sat on the edge. Its tail and hind legs hung freely, scrabbling at the rocks, that only gave way and tumbled into the sea, some 300ft bellow. Its broken leg simply kicked at the rock, sending shooting pain up it and into the dragon's body, but it didn't stop. Its wings, though torn and shredded, still had the claws that tried to grasp hold of anything they could to stop it tumbling, but every rock was covered in ice and snow, and offered little support. Great pathetic cries rang through the air, that sorrowful note carried with it the desperate pleas for a saviour, and everyone felt it. Despite the fact that they had tried to kill the dragon, every single person there felt remorse at having taken down such a noble animal, and everyone felt a small pang of regret at making it look so weak, so helpless. Even Jarl Korir winced as it tried to use its teeth to hold on, and all that was heard was a very audible crunch as his fangs simply shattered with the force. It roared out in pain, its voice now guttural and frail, as if it had resigned itself to its fate.

Suddenly it stopped, its head snapped forward to look at the citizens of Winterhold that had gathered at a safe distance to look at the sorry sight. One tear, one single drop of water trailed down the scales of the dragons face, its eyes filled with more tears, and a sorrow that no one in the crowd had ever felt, had ever witnessed.

And it was gone. It simply let go, tumbling down, twisting and spiralling, slamming against the cliff face and thrown further into the reaches of the trench. Every soldier, every citizen, every mage bowed their heads as an evil, life taking splash was heard. They knew the shallow water barely broke its fall, and that it would've hit the mud, sand and rock underneath with almost as much force as if there was no water there at all. Not even a dragon could survive that.

Silence encompassed the crowd, no one wanted to break the mournful stillness, many still too shaken by the experience to speak. It took several minutes, long, dragging minutes, but the truth of what had happened soon soon dawned on those left, and one by one people began to whoop and cheer, until the whole town rang with elation. People ran out of houses and shops, and everyone left in the Longhouse swarmed out onto the streets. All memory of the sad sight of the dragon was washed away with the feeling of celebration.

''Citizens, we can celebrate later, but despite the hour their is work to do. A team needs to search the Frozen Hearth for any survivors, and the dead need to be lined up to be counted and buried. Luckily the flames did not reach the buildings, or else we would really be in trouble, but sparks and scorch marks still could set dry timber alight, so I want everyone to be alert,'' said Jarl Korir said, beaming down on all those around him. This was the first time in many years that Winterhold had something to be proud of, despite the people they had lost.

''Oh, and mages.'' All people from the College turned, expecting praise, almost certain that this had improved relations with the town. ''Go back to your College. Tomorrow, I expect you to be in the town, helping to repair the damage you caused.'' Before any mage could speak, worsening the situation even more, Fornice stepped in.

''You heard him. It's time for us to leave.'' He teeth were gritted, and her fists clenched. She shot a look of pure malice at Jarl Korir, but she still did not let her anger escape She headed back across the bridge, and, as if Tamriel had sensed the outrage she felt, the blizzard stopped, as if even the weather knew not to make her even more angry. One by one, the other mages silently followed, until all had left, and Winterhold looked even more bare than before.

Tolfdir, before crossing the bridge, saw something on the ground. It glittered in the light of the newly revealed moons. It was at the edge, near to where the dragon had been, so he thought maybe a scale had fallen off, or perhaps it was a shard of a tooth, so he trudged over to it, the snow crunching beneath his thick boots, and there, lying in the snow, was a perfectly frozen tear drop. He suddenly remembered the tear that ran down the dragons face, so he quickly held a frost spell in his hand, and picked up the tear drop, using the spell to make sure it didn't melt, and he hurried after the other mages.

* * *

''Fornice, I thought you might like this.'' Fornice looked up from her desk to see Tolfdir standing on the rug in the Arch-Mage's Quarters entrance hall.

''Tolfdir, I was bout to go to bed. What is it?'' She asked, standing up, and Tolfdir saw she was not in her robes any more, but a dark navy, silk nightdress. Wordlessly, Tolfdir held out his hand, and the light from the globes of magic hovering in the Alchemy Garden glittered off the dragon tear, casting sparks of light across the room.

''What is that?'' She asked, slowly stepping closer to have a look.

''It's a tear from the dragon. I doubt it has much to offer us, but I thought it would be a nice trinket for you. Oh, and as you can see it's frozen, so it needs to be kept cool,'' he said, while white mist rolled off his wrinkled palm due to the spell in his hand. Fornice beamed with excitement at the tiny drop of frozen emotion, and she sprinted across the circular room, her bare feet slapping against the dark, stone floor. She rummaged around in a tall basket next to her personal Arcane Enchanter. The candles along it cast flickering lights on her, and the glowing blue runes against the dark wood made it look exactly how something of its design should; magical. She pulled out a small crystal, purple, with smooth straight sides, and sharp edges. Tolfdir wondered exactly how many soul gems she must have in that basket but didn't let his curiosity get the best of him. Fornice placed the gem on the Arcane Enchanter, and scanned the room desperately for something, before she rushed over to a table, grabbed an ornate looking silver goblet and threw the wine that was in it onto the jazbay grapes in her Alchemy Garden. She then placed the goblet on the Enchanter and placed her hands on it. There was a quick flash, and the soul gem had disappeared, and the goblet now had a faint glow to it. Tolfdir had seen enough enchantments being made in his lifetime to not be amazed, so he just stood patiently, his palm outstretched, marvelling at the little curiosity in his hand. Fornice ran over and took the tear, and placed it in the goblet.

''I'll study this, to see if it can offer anything. If not, then I think I shall make a new pendent out of it. It's been a while since I got myself anything nice,'' Fornice told Tolfdir, still staring down into the silver goblet. Quite a fitting holder for something so precious.

''It's been a long day for us all, so I'm off to bed. Tell me if you discover something interesting.'' With that Tolfdir took a left, and walked down the stairs to The Hall of the Elements. As soon as he was gone, Fornice walked to her bed, put the goblet on her bedside table, and clambered under the covers.

''Madam Arch-Mage, you need to wake up.'' Fornice opened her bleary eyes to see one of the Battlemages, the same one who came to her at the Longhouse. Fornice made another mental note. To learn the girls name.

''What is it, Battlemage? And what time is it?'' Fornice asked, sitting up, her hair frizzy and sticking up at all angles. She wondered how the Battlemage's golden blonde locks could be so well kept, despite the fact that she had obviously been patrolling the walls, due to the dusting of snow on her crimson robes and hood. Fornice studied the woman even more. She had never had any real need to work closely with them, but she knew they were important to the College. They served as guards, patrolling the Walls, the Courtyard, and standing guard at the doors to the Vault. That was one of the reasons why Korir insisted that town guards should not patrol the College, as they have their own guards, but Fornice pointed out that the Battlemages didn't have any standing with the law, so could not arrest anyone, something Korir refused to let them do, so it had gone on for years, until Hoarik had stepped in that evening.

''Arch-Mage, it's about three-thirty in the morning, and there are Imperial Soldiers at the gates demanding to see you.'' Dread filled Fornice. She knew exactly what this was about, but she knew she couldn't put it off.

''Very well. I shall meet them.''

''I hope you do't mind, but but before I woke you, I took the liberty of getting your robes, hood and boots.'' Fornice smiled at the girl, liking her more and more. She wondered if she had been assigned to be the Arch-Mage's messenger, or if she had chosen it.

''Thank you. What is your name, girl?'' She asked, standing up and taking her clothes from the Battlemage.

''Runa, but you don't need to worry about that, just call me what you wish.''

''Well, I wish to call you Runa. That is your name, and everyone deserves to be called by their name,'' Fornice said, annoyed that everyone simply called her Arch-Mage, but didn't want to embarrass the girl by saying so.

''Please forgive my rudeness, Arch-Mage, but the men said it was urgent, so I think you should get dressed now.''

Fornice liked this girl. She at least had a semblance of a spine.

''Of course. Forgive me.'' Fornice quickly got dressed, and shoved her hood on to hide her hair. No way was she to meet with the Imperials looking a state.

* * *

''Ah, Arch-Mage Fornice. What a pleasure,'' the tall Imperial said. He was dressed in full Imperial steel armour, helmet and all, and his companion was dressed in identical gear, except the one who spoke had tanned skin, whilst the silent one had a paler complexion, and blonde hair poked out from his helmet. They would't have been an imposing sight if it weren't for the fact that they were both mounted upon black horses. They weren't the most well built beasts, but it still put the soldiers several feet above Fornice and Runa.

''Why are you here, Imperial?'' Runa asked. The young Battlemage could sense the soldier's mocking tone towards Fornice, and no way was she going to let them insult her Arch-Mage.

''I shall not lower myself by answering your question, Nord,'' the Imperial spat.

''You will answer her question, as you are on College grounds, and that means she has more power than you,'' Fornice said, winking at Runa, who offered a small smile. The Imperial man sat up taller on his steed and motioned to his companion who pulled out a small scroll. The first soldier pulled off his shining steel gloves and snatched the scroll from the blonde Imperial. He carefully unrolled it and cleared his throat.

''_Arch-Mage Fornice Draconis of The College of Winterhold.  
You are accused of torture, murder, false imprisonment of innocent men and high treason against Skyrim's Royal Family.  
You are to arrive in Solitude and plead your case, then I, and the other eight Jarl's of Skyrim, shall decide the fate of you and your College.  
You are entitled to bring two persons of your choice.  
May Sovngarde spit you out, and may you burn in the pits of Oblivion  
Elisif The Fiar, Jarl of Solitude, and High Queen of Skyrim.''_


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N Thank you for reading the story thus far. It means a lot. I plan to update more often, but things are quite busy in my life.  
Thank you to you all who have reviewed. If I need cheering up, I look at your reviews, and it always puts a smile on my face.**

''Colette, I just need to know how many were injured, how many are still being treated, and how many are dead. It's not difficult,'' Fornice said, finally giving up any hope that if she just listened to the Breton woman's babbling, then she'd get somewhere eventually, but the Head of Restoration had other ideas, spending the last half an hour going on about the lack of trained Healers at the College, and how any Battlemage with training in Restoration should be ordered to help heal the casualties. Before Colette could jump into her much rehearsed speech about how Restoration deserves more money, so more useful magics can be researched, Fornice cut in, and made her demands.

''I'm sorry, Arch-Mage. Fifty-one mages were injured. Of those, twenty-three are still being treated. The Infirmary is quite full, but we're muddling through.'' Fornice sat up in her chair, suddenly interested in what Colette was saying.

''Colette?''

''Yes.''

''We don't have an infirmary,'' Fornice said, her brows raised.

''Ah, you see we had to set up a makeshift one. It's nothing fancy, but it gets the job done.''

''Where did you manage to fit it? There's hardly any room, and I don't see a hospital in the Courtyard,'' Fornice said, glancing out of her wide, circular window in the shape of the College's crest, that of an eye.

''Well, I did have to think about it for a while, but then one of my junior apprentices had an ingenious idea. The Midden! So I gathered all my students, and together we took supplies, tents, all the necessaries down there-''

''Colette! It's dangerous for anyone to go into The Midden, let alone fifty-one injured, and a couple of mages trained only in Restoration. I can't believe you would put so many people at risk.'' Fornice sat glaring at the Breton woman. Despite Colette's grating voice, squashed face and intense attitude, Fornice never thought the Head of Restoration would do something so _stupid._ In all honesty, no one really liked Colette. She was hard to even look at without wondering what wall her face had been slammed into, and most people thought that she probably deserved it. She wasn't particularly spiteful or hateful, she was just so _annoying_. Her voice was painful to listen to, screeching when she was angry or hyped up, and she was almost always one of the two, and she would constantly remind people that Restoration was 'a perfectly valid School of Magic', despite only having thirty-one practitioners, compared to Destruction's one-hundred-and-twenty-seven. She took time to organise speeches on the matter, but few came, yet despite the stick she got, not once was her intense, full on spirit dampened. In most people this would be admired, but Colette's attitude had a way of making you feel as if escape would be a glorious pleasure, but etiquette dictated you to nod politely and quietly suffer through.

''Arch-Mage, I assure you everyone is perfectly safe,'' Colette shrieked, her voice rising to such a painful pitch that Fornice visibly winced at her words. ''Some of us, including myself, are trained in basic to mid level Destruction, but we would've fared just fine without it. Restoration was extremely useful, as our Turn Undead spells helped with the Skeletons and Draugr down there, and Wards helps against the Ice Wraiths, but we did need Destruction to extermi-''

''That's lovely, Colette, but I refuse to believe you managed to clear out the entire Midden. There's Divine's know what down there, things that would bring countless sleepless nights to you, knowing that under your home, your sanctuary, live these things, so don't even try to tell me it is now safe,'' Fornice said, a flame in her eyes, and a hard, stony edge to her voice.

''You may be Arch-Mage, but I have been here for decades longer than you have,'' growled Colette. She had snapped. All through their conversation, she had brushed off comments that most would have been outraged at, but now Fornice had stepped too far. She said she was a coward and stupid, without really saying anything. That woman had always had a way with words. ''I have heard the tales, and when I was an apprentice I ventured too far, and I saw one of those horrors for myself, so don't you dare think that I am clueless, that I am ignorant.'' Colette stood up and strode towards the door, and Fornice could've sworn she saw real flames in her eyes. The Breton was about to turn to go down the stairs when she turned around.

''Oh, and we didn't clear out the whole Midden, we simply cleared the large room near the entrance and set up Wards and Runes to stop anything coming at us. There's plenty of room in that chamber, and running water to boot, so why would you even think that I would carry on going?'' Colette said, hurt clear on her face and in her voice, and despite the Breton woman's unrivalled ability to annoy and frustrate, Fornice felt a pang of guilt.

There was silence for a few moments before Colette sighed and disappeared down the steps. Fornice did not need this, not on top of everything else. She thought back to the day before.

_''Arch-Mage, you have until dawn tomorrow to prepare yourself. We shall accompany you to the gates of Solitude. There, the Fourth Brigade of the Eighth Legion will escort you to Castle Dour where a Moot shall convene to decide if you are guilty. You are allowed two of your number to accompany you. Choose wisely.''_

Fornice broke from her reverie, and decided that the soldier was right, that she needed to choose wisely. She couldn't take just anyone. She needed people she could rely on, people who could think, and it would be best if these people could fight as well, because if things went bad for her, she was not going to go to prison willingly, nor the executioners block.

* * *

''Tolfdir, I don't suppose you've heard the news?''

''Fornice, my dear, the entire College has heard the news. I want you to know that we all think you've done nothing wrong. They tried to steal from us, so we locked them up, but, my dear, we cannot know what lies that young lad has fed his mother, so we need to prepare for the worst,'' Tolfdir said, taking her hand in his.

''And that is why I want you to come to Solitude with me. I need someone with a good head on their shoulders, but can also hold their own in a fight.''

''Fornice, my old bones couldn't take a punch, let alone throw one,'' Tolfdir laughed.

''I meant with magic, and you know it!'' Fornice smiled for the first time since she got the summons.

''Who's going to stay and run the College, after its Arch-Mage _and_ Master Wizard is gone?''

''I thought Faralda and Brelyna could run things for a few days. Faralda is an extremely capable woman, and there's nothing wrong with throwing Brelyna in the deep end, is there? I would rather Drevis be in charge, but I've decided he should come with us to Solitude. I need an Illusionist and-''

''Fornice, Drevis is being treated in the Midden for a snapped arm and shattered knee cap.'' There was silence between the two. Wind whistled through the courtyard they were standing in, and they could hear a group of excited Conjuration students under the cloister.

''Well, balls to that!'' Fornice shouted, her frustration bubbling to the surface. ''I need someone trained in Illusion in case we need to make an escape, and I know none bar Drevis, so how can I trust their magical capability?'' She almost pleaded, desperation on her face. She was at a loss. Drevis Neloran was the Head of Illusion at the College of Winterhold, and Fornice had learnt to trust him, as he had got her and the College out of many situations with his control over people's minds. Many mobs and riots had been quelled thanks to him. The Dunmer may be eccentric, but his skills in Illusion were unsurpassed.

''Fornice, we'll find somebody. Why don't you go down to the Midden and ask him if there's any of his students that could fill the post?'' Tolfdir did not like talking to Fornice like a child, but he knew that was the only way to calm her down.

''That's - but... that's actually a pretty good idea,'' Fornice said with a sigh.

''Good girl. Now, I'd love to come with you, but some of my students are waiting for a lesson,'' Tolfdir said. He put a hand on Fornice's shoulder and walked back towards The Hall of the Elements.

* * *

Fornice had to admit Colette hadn't done too bad a job down in The Midden. Gone were the weeds, the bones, the rotting pieces of furniture that were left down there by previous residents, and in their place stood a busy, yet ordered hub of life.

Fornice had arrived on a raised platform that hugged two of the walls in an 'L' shape. A corridor led off of one of them, but Fornice was happy to see a shimmering blue shield blocking the way, and the floor several feet into the tunnel was covered in Runes that would explode if disturbed. _She wasn't lying when she said she'd made it safe_, thought Fornice. She walked to the edge of the platform and looked down. Wooden shelters hugged the walls of the lower section, and an assortment of different sized tents filled the rest of the space. In the centre stood the largest tent of all, and Fornice assumed that's where the Healers and Colette herself lived until the patients were well. Fornice quickly glanced at what else was on the upper level, and she saw a few rotten looking crates filled with what Fornice guessed were bandages and non-perishable food. Another tunnel led off from the lower level, but that was blocked off in the same way as the upper level. Above the noise of people shouting orders, the general chatter and the occasional groan of pain, the thunderous roar of falling water could be heard, and Fornice looked ahead to see a great waterfall cascading down just past a large, rusted grate. Steps led down to the room where the waterfall ended, and Fornice assumed that's where they got the water.

''Colette, you've achieved much. I never thought it would be like this,'' Fornice said, walking through the tent flap. Colette looked up from the pile of papers she was sorting through and gave a weak smile to Fornice.

''And to think you thought this was a bad idea. Half the people in here will be out by the end of the week, and then we'll start disassembling it. The lesser injured are in the wooden shelters, and each severe case has a tent to itself. People are comfortable and well cared for down here, but they'll be much better once they can return to their rooms. This shall all be as it was by the end of the month,'' Colette said. She was sad to see her hard work go, but she knew it couldn't stay, not with the Arch-Mage's attitude towards it.

''No, it's a great idea, and in days to come we will be in great need of it.'' Colette furrowed her brows at Fornice's words, but decided not to question it. ''Therefore, I shall be cutting off some of the funding to Destruction and Conjuration and giving it to you. Restoration is needed, Colette, and we can't use it to its full potential on the measly budget you have at the moment.'' Fornice smiled at the expression on Colette's face. Both of them knew that even if Restoration got a tiny cut from the two most powerful Schools, then it would still probably double its budget.

''Arch-Mage, I don't know what to say! I mean, thank you, thank you so much. This place will thrive, I promise you,'' Colette shrieked, her voice sounding as if it could shatter glass.

_I can finally set up a permanent Infirmary. I'll have to find somewhere suitable, but right here seems fine. We have water, and it's spacious. Wait, why am I getting this money anyway? Why now at any rate? I've been asking for more funding for years, and I've always been rejected, so why is now any different?_

''Arch-Mage, I hope I'm not being rude by asking, but why give me this money now? I've always got the bare minimum needed for Restoration's survival for years. I had to scrounge every resource and Septim I could get my hands on to set up this place, and even with that, all I have are planks of wood and a few tents. I could have used this money before, but I never got an extra Septim. Why now?'' A silence formed between the two, its grey tendrils reaching out and knitting the pair together, bonding them together in the sound of nothing, save for the occasional muffled shout and the steady rush of water. Most people were intimidated by Fornice staring them directly in the eye, but not Colette. She drank in the figure standing before her, a tall beauty in a long midnight robe, her billowy sleeves dangling from her crossed arms, swayed with every movement. Colette wondered if they were at all related. They had the same brown hair, dark eyes and pale skin. Of course these traits were common amongst Bretons, but so was interbreeding amongst families, resulting in very select gene pools, so it wasn't impossible. Finally the silence was broken. Fornice let out a sigh and uncrossed her arms, looking right into Colette's eyes.

''Clouds are forming, Colette. A darkness will choke us, and it is our job to break free, so anything that looks to repair instead of destroy is worth attention,'' Fornice whispered darkly. A shiver ran down Colette's spine, and something deep down inside her said that Fornice's words were true, and that frightened her more than she'd like to admit.

''And I shall be ready. You can count on me,'' Colette responded with a reassuring smile. Fornice simply smiled back with a nod of her head and exited the tent.

* * *

Drevis' tent was bigger than the others, not by much, but it definitely showed to the others that he got special treatment. Fornice didn't really like having some above others, but she decided it was not worth mentioning.

_Is that a bedside table?_

''Drevis, there's something we need to discuss,'' Fornice said bluntly to the Dunmer with his wild white hair sticking up behind him in the wild fashions only Mer can pull off. She knew he wouldn't appreciate it if she wasted time on greetings, that was just the way he was, quite the opposite to Colette. Those two never got along.

''Go ahead, Arch-Mage Fornice,'' the old Dunmer said with a jovial air only he could muster in a dank cavern like the one they were in. He put down the book he was reading and looked up at Fornice.

''First off, just call me 'Arch-Mage' or 'Fornice'. Saying both is a bit much.'' Drevis chuckled at this.

''Of course, Fornice. After all, everyone's entitled to their name.''

_It's as if he knows,_ Fornice thought. She knew mind reading was impossible, but him being head of the School that focuses on the mind, who knows what he could do.

''They are indeed,'' she said with a smile. ''Now, I'm in a small situation...'' And she told him the entire story, of the Mage's capture, of who they were, of their escape, of the soldiers and of her need for an Illusionist.

''Then it's a shame I'm strapped up in here!'' He exclaimed, motioning towards his collection of bandages. ''But some of my students are capable. It all depends on what you're looking for. There are two main types of Illusion Spells. The first type is that of the mind. You control the victims actions, making them docile, scared, or even sending them into a blood lust frenzy, and the other manipulates how you are seen, be it making you invisible or unheard. Which would be of more use?'' Fornice thought hard about this, running through every scenario she could, everything that could go wrong, every possible escape route, and though both types of Illusion would be useful, she knew which one would save her from a crowd of armed and angry guards.

''I need someone with power over the mind.'' Drevis smiled at this, his somewhat wrinkled skin stretching out.

''Then Peric Astuce is the student I recommend.''

* * *

Light streamed through the windows of the Jarl's Longhouse, mingling with the smoke cast up by the fire pit in the centre of the hall to form a grey haze that wafted here and there, filling the warm room with the homely smell of wood smoke. Jarl Korir always found the smell relaxing, and for a Jarl heading off to a Moot that was about to decide the fate of half the population of his Hold, relaxation was very important. So many little details had to be sorted out before he could leave Winterhold, but one in particular came to the front of his mind.

''Malur, is the crown polished?'' Jarl Korir asked his Dunmer steward who sat at the other end of the Longhouse with a silver goblet of wine next to him. Malur Seloth stood up and bowed to the Jarl.

''Yeah, my Jarl, I managed to make i' gleam wivou' damaging its ancien' look, just as ya asked. I put i' in the safe in the Armoury. Kai is making sure i' stays there.''

''Can you tell Kai he has my thanks. The Helm of Winterhold is the only thing that might get me respect at the Moot.'' Kai Wet-Pommel used to be Captain of the Stormcloak troops in Winterhold during the Civil War, but after the conquest of Windhelm, thus meaning a Legion victory, most surviving Stormcloak troops were disbanded or were engulfed into the guards, but Jarl Korir saw potential in Kai Wet-Pommel and kept him on as his own personal Housecarl.

''Of course, my Jarl. Begin' ya pardon, but there is one more visi' f' today,'' Malur said nervously. Depending in Korir's mood, he could be told that mistakes happen and ask to usher in the late arrivial.  
Or a plate could fly at his head.

''Malur, you said that my last visit would be Dagur, to see where he can be housed,'' Jarl Korir said, raising an eyebrow. Poor Dagur was the owner of the Frozen Hearth, the local Inn in Winterhold which was ripped apart by the dragon. His wife and daughter suffered the same fate, so he stayed with Kraldar on the other side of town while the community rebuilt the Inn.

''Sorry, my Jarl, but I 'membered that a young man from the College demanded t' see ya, sayin' it were 'imperative' he spoke t' ya 'bout the Moot. The boy did seem to 'ave an 'ead on 'is shoulders,'' Malur said, draining his goblet.

''And what makes you say that?'' Korir asked. In his opinion, no one from the College had any sense.

''He managed t' cast a Calm spell on me wivou' me realisin'. No feelin' of forced peace, no sense of bein' controlled. The only reason I knew i' 'ad been cast on me was 'cause he told me 'imself, and of course, once I were told, I instantly felt i', but still no' nearly as strong as from most Mages,'' Malur said, as if being controlled by another person was a thing of astonishment, and not a violation of his rights.

''I don't appreciate my court being controlled by magic. You can write to their Arch-Mage telling her that, but to some extent you are right. If I were to swing a sword at you without you feeling it, it would be just as impressive.'' Malur gave his Jarl an odd look as he said that.

''Malur, just because I despise the College, doesn't mean I'm ignorant of what they can do and what they study. To know one's enemy is to have power over them,'' Jarl Korir said with a faint smile.

''Truer words were never said, my Jarl. Should I bring 'im in? He should be quite chilled by now. I' may not be snowin', but a bitter wind is blowin' off the Sea of Ghosts,'' said Malur.

''No point putting this off,'' Korir said with a flick of his hand. Malur bowed and went to the door. He hesitated and turned to his Jarl.

''He's probably been out there for about 'alf an hour, so expect an angry mage or a dead body.'' Jarl Korir nodded in acknowledgement, and Malur Seloth opened the door, letting a blast of cold air into the toasty Longhouse.

''You have no idea how much I hate you, Malur,'' Peric said as he stumbled into the Longhouse. His skin and lips were tinted blue, and he very visibly shook with the cold. His brown hood was pulled up, casting a shadow over his face, but his dark eyes shone through. He walked the length of the room until he was facing Jarl Korir who was lounging in his throne, an unamused expression on his face.

''When I make an appointment to see the Jarl, I don't expect to have to wait outside for half an hour,'' Peric said, sitting on the step that lead up to the fire pit, the flames heating up his back, bringing colour slowly back to his face and hands.

''My steward only just informed me of your visit, so the fault is his,'' said Korir, coolly, casting a hard look at Malur, who turned away and poured himself another goblet of wine. Peric raised an eyebrow at Malur, but turned back again to face Korir.

''Jarl Korir, I've come here to talk to you about the upcoming Moot. You must side with Arch-Mage Fornice,'' Peric said bluntly, pulling down his hood, allowing his brown hair to fall out in a tangled mess.

''And what makes you think you have any rite to say such a thing to me, boy?'' Jarl Korir snarled as he sat up in his throne.

''I have the rite, because I know of your hatred to the College and its people. Everyone does, and we don't like it. We're not fools, we know you're thinking of pushing for High Queen Elisif to condemn Arch-Mage Fornice, or perhaps even the entire College, and do you seriously think we'll let you?'' Peric said, not standing up, but he looked Jarl Korir in the eyes, something that not many people can do.

''Enough!'' Korir roared, his face steadily went red with rage throughout Peric's speech_. How dare he talk to me like that? Filthy Mage. _''You are a filthy spell slinger, and I am the Jarl of Winterhold. You will listen to me, and you will listen well. If you ever speak to me like that again, like you have no respect for me, I will do what you think I will, and I will burn your College to the ground,'' Korir said, his breathing heavy, and his eyes wild with anger. ''And who is this 'we'?'' Peric remained silent at these words. He was boiling with his own rage, yet he needed to contain it for now, not shout back. It wouldn't help anything, but he couldn't answer Jarl Korir's question, as it wouldn't be a good answer.

After a few moments of silence, Korir smirked and sat back in his throne. ''You won't answer, because there is no 'we'. You are a single mage, coming to my Longhouse with no allies and no plan. You're pathetic.'' Peric slowly stood up, his teeth gritted.

''Do you know why I presumed I could speak to you as if we were equals? It's because I thought a man who's Hold is in ruins, and yet refuses to do a thing about, and a man who shuns and not embraces the only thing that might drag us out of the gutter would realise he doesn't deserve to be treated as a figure of respect. He doesn't deserve any respect at all,'' said Peric, slowly and coldly, as if he were talking to a man who had killed half the population of the Rift, but in his mind this man was hardly different. This man was willing to condemn half the people he was sworn to serve and protect.

Stillness is what the room became. Even the flames seemed to slow their crackling. Hoarik Forge-Blazer and Kai Wet-Pommel were leaning against the door of the armoury, worried expressions on their battle hardened faces. Malur sat in a chair on the far side of the room, a goblet of wine half way to his lips. Peric felt very self concious, and he decided that it probably wasn't a good idea to say what he just did. Jarl Korir was as still as the rest. He sat there, leaning forward staring at Peric, as if he were the only thing in the world worth his attention. Peric slowly sat back down on the warm stone, not breaking eye contact with Jarl Korir.

''Why are you here?'' Korir asked calmly.

''To make you choose the right path,'' Peric responded almost instantly. He wrapped his arms around himself, pushing his face into them, so his mouth and nose were hidden, as if he were scared, but everyone in that room knew that Jarl Korir did not frighten him, and they knew he was only doing it to warm his arms and face. Malur felt guilty for leaving him outside so long, but there was nothing he could do now.

''And what path would that be?'' Jarl Korir asked. He was curious more than angry now, and he wanted to know what the boy was doing.

''To side with the College no matter what. You know full well that if the College goes down, so does Winterhold. Who would come here to see a couple of shacks? No, the College must live on.''

''And what if it's only your Arch-Mage who is to be executed?'' Korir asked. There was a long pause while Peric thought up an answer.

''Then, as long as Elisif gives you her word that the College shall remain unharmed, then you may side with the High Queen.'' Peric didn't like to say that, but he knew the College had many capable people who could take Fornice's place, and if Korir went against Elisif just for Fornice's execution, then it would cause far more problems than if he remained silent.

''And why am I asking you for permission?'' Korir said, more to himself than anyone. He seemed startled at this, as he sat back, and his eyes widened slightly.

''Because deep down inside, something has fallen into place,'' Peric said, getting up. He walked towards the door, and nodded towards Malur, Hoarik and Kai as he left the comfort of the fire and prepared himself for the bitter night air. He reached for the door and turned around to face Korir, who was still in his throne. ''Something inside you knows that I am right, and perhaps it's also telling you that we are equals after all,'' he said before pulling up his hood and stepping outside.

Jarl Korir sat in his throne in silence. His steward, housecarl and thane all watched him, waiting for him to do something. _Anything, _and after a few moments he stood up and turned to them. ''Make sure nothing like this happens again.''

* * *

Dawn arrived with a fresh snow storm that blanketed the College, the town and the roads, yet Jarl Korir's carriage still stood ready and waiting in front of the Jarl's Longhouse. Two white stallions were strapped to the front, and in the drivers seat sat Malur, wrapped in thick wolf skins that shielded him from the worst of the storm. Beside the carriage sat the two Imperial Soldiers on their own horses. They only wore their standard issue Imperial armour which did nothing to protect them from Winterhold's bitter climate, and Fornice smiled to see them shivering as she climbed into the carriage. The outside was rather plain. Many nobles in Skyrim had carriages much more ornate and plush, but being of one of the poorest Holds, Jarl Korir could not afford such things, but the inside was another story. The interior was made up of entirely furs. Every last inch was covered in the hair of one animal of another. The floor was dominated by a white bear skin, its head still attached and looked as if it were roaring at those entering the carriage. The seats were made of plush cushions draped with sabre cat fur, but the most impressive touch were the brown mammoth fur cloaks provided to keep the inhabitants warm on the journey. Peric had never seen such luxury and decided this trip wouldn't be so bad after all.

''Hurry up, boy,'' said Kai, as Peric had stopped in the doorway to admire the carriage interior. Peric muttered an apology and sat down on a seat and grabbed one of the mammoth cloaks, glad for its warmth. He looked up and gave a coy smile to the man sitting opposite him.

''Oh, Lady Fate, you are a cruel mistress,'' said Jarl Korir, throwing his hands up in mock gesture to whatever beings resided over Nirn.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N Thank you for everyone who has stayed tuned with this story. I am sorry for the long waits, but school and rehearsals take up a lot of time. It would mean so very much to me if you reviewed this story and told me what you think!**

* * *

High Queen Elisif sat tall and stern in her high-backed throne. Her Moot regalia flowed out before her, reds and browns swirling across the cold slate floor of Castle Dour. A collar of fur trailed down the hem of her robe. Castle Dour was known for its drafts, especially in Winter tide and it was nearing that time of year, so Elisif was pleased that her stylists had taken that into consideration.

In front of her stood a very aged and worn table. Its wood was pitted with marks from times immemorial Daggers driven into the wood in anger, heads smashed against it from what are commonly called ''Jarl Brawls''. It was said that the Moot table came from the time of Ysgrammor himself, but in Skyrim anything more than one-hundred years of age are said to be made by Ysgrammor or his Five-Hundred Companions.

Every person around that table looked at Elisif in her bold robes and ornate throne, and they all saw something different. Some saw a child, barely old enough to to think for herself, let alone rule a nation, and some saw a proud woman, ready to lead her people to a time of grace, and one very angry woman, a woman with great curls of brown hair and her signature midnight robe saw a corrupt and unjust tyrant and as she stared at her Queen, she saw the potential of evil shining in her watery eyes.

The room was silent, every eye on their Queen, expecting some great verdict, some speech to guide them into action, and yet the woman sat there, staring straight ahead at one lone figure in an aged and uncomfortable wooden chair. Both those women would never back down, and as brown eyes met blue, they knew there could be no truce, no compromise. There could never be peace.

Elisif lifted her glass of Cyrodilic wine to her lips, her eyes still not leaving Fornice's, and as she put it down, her mouth twitched into a viscous smile.

''Arch-Mage Fornice Draconis of the College of Winterhold, you have been found guilty of three accounts of unjust torture, incorrect imprisonment, and two cases of murder. All against members of Skyrim's Royal Family. What do you have to say?'' Said Elisif in a calm voice that betrayed no emotion. Fornice raised her eyebrows at Elisif and sat back in her chair.

''Guilty? I haven't even been trialled.''

A murmur of voices filled the room, some scoffing at the need of a trial, and some of the more liberal Jarls nodded their head in agreement with Fornice Elisif leaned forward and grasped the hand of the man standing to her right. Throughout the Moot, Fornice kept glancing up at the figure with his richly embroidered robes with their blood red hem. His arm and forehead were covered in white cotton bandages, and what little flesh did show sported many cuts and bruises. His black hair no longer looked greasy and matted, but well kept and clean, but one thing hadn't changed since Fornice last saw this man, and that was the wide-eyed look of survival in his eyes.

Elisif turned her adorned head to look at the man she now held. ''Then tell me, Bjornrick, where are your brothers?''

The man looked down at his mother with sorrow plastered on his face.

''In Sovngarde, mother, for they died fighting against the demonic beings sent to kill us. These mages locked us away in a great cavern of pain and death, promising that we would be dead within the week, and for Sunhal and Fjell they were correct. We were in our cages one night, thinking how unjust our situation was -''

Only Peric saw the small squeeze that Elisif gave her sons hand, and as he looked down at her, she mumbled something to him, and Peric would've sworn on his life that she said ''Don't overdo it.'' He looked around for anyone who had understood, but all he saw were looks of curiosity amongst those gathered around. They had seen her say something, but knew not what.

Bjornrick turned back to the crowd and continued. ''And then suddenly three great beasts of ice burst into the cavern. One was already in the room but was passive, but as soon as the other three joined it, all four tried to kill us. They were Frost Atronachs, yes?'' Bjornrick stared directly at Fornice, and this remark was a direct confrontation. If she said the wrong thing, then there would be no doubt of her guilt. There was a silence while she thought of the right thing to say.

''We do indeed have four Frost Atronachs to guard The Chill, as our prison is commonly known, but three of them are only ever ordered to remain outside-''

''Arch-Mage, my son said they entered when you were not present. How can you be sure they did not enter?'' Asked Elisif.

''For we found the remains of three Atronachs outside on the ice,'' said Fornice without hesitation. Elisif slowly turned to look at her son.

''After they smashed apart my cage to get at me, I evaded them, and blasted the locks off of my brother's cages, and we tried to escape these murderous beasts, and we got rid of one as we made our escape, but the other three persuade us. Fjell and Sunhal never stood a chance.'' Bjornrick hung his head, and held tight to his mother's hand, as if she was the only thing keeping him standing. He lifted his head, and his eyes were red and puffy, and a single tear trailed its path down his cheek and dripped onto the table. A reminder of just one more story to pass its way.

''You see, Jarls of Skyrim, these mages locked away my sons, sentenced them to days of numbing cold, and when they tired of my boys, they sent monsters to dispose of them,'' Queen Elisif said, looking each and every Jarl in the eye before moving on to the reason why they were all there. The was a pause in her speech while she stared with hatred into Fornice's eyes. ''You and your people are barely even human,'' she whispered.

''Do you not ever wonder why they were imprisoned. Do you not stop to think that there must be a reason why we locked them up?'' Fornice asked while leaning forward in her chair. ''They were caught trying to escape from the College after stealing several extremely valuable artefacts including the Staff of Magnus itself. We weren't willing to just take back the items and let them go,'' she spat.

''Yet that is not a reason for them to be killed. You went above the law here, Arch-Mage, and you must pay for it.''

''Your majesty, I did not kill them! We put the Atronach's outside to guard the prison, and your sons must have escaped. You cannot fault us for that,'' said Fornice indignantly.

Elisif rose quickly, shooting daggers at Fornice. She breathed heavily for several moments before roaring at Fornice with more fury than anyone thought the High Queen had.

''Arch-Mage, two of my sons are dead by your hand. You employ Daedra to watch over mortals. They know only death and destruction. You cannot have monsters with more power than men. It's tyrannical!'' She started to slowly walk around the table, brushing past every Jarl that sat around it, and when she got to Fornice she stopped. Fornice never turned around. She knew Elisif was behind her, yet in her defiance she refused to look at her queen. Elisif growled with rage and grabbed the hair at the back of Fornice's head. The Arch-Mage cried out in pain, but Elisif did not release her grip.

''This woman has committed atrocious crimes against Skyrim's own Royal Family, and in extension, Skyrim itself. What say you, slattern? Does you College offer themselves up freely, or must I burn it to the ground?'' Though in great pain, Fornice managed to shove the High Queen off of her, and she too stood up, matching Elisif's height.

''The College burn? Nay, what crimes have they committed? You said it yourself, it was I that killed your sons, why accuse the innocent?'' Peric stared at Fornice. She had just confessed to murder. Nothing could save her now, but he was in awe of her, as she had just given up her life for the chance that the College may survive, and she didn't bat an eyelash.

''They surely knew of your crimes, you must surely have spouted it about the College, did you not?''

''Aye, I did, but what of it?''

''There was no retribution, no punishment, no uproar? No. Then they are guilty in your crimes as well. They may as well have struck the blow themselves. They are guilty of assisting you in your evil, which, on account of homicide, is also punishable by death.''

''So kill me where I stand! But do not the other Eight Rulers of Skyrim have a say in this also? You do not run this nation alone, Elisif as much as you would like to,'' Fornice spat. Elisif simply smiled at her and turned to those gathered around the worn table, staring dumbfounded at what has just unfolded.

''So tell me, Rulers of Skyrim, what side do you choose, Skyrim, or the Mages?'' There was silence. No one wanted to speak first, no one wanted to condemn, or be condemned, just as it would look like Elisif would have to question each one individually, Jarl Skald the Elder of The Pale, grabbed his stick from where it was resting against the table, and he shakily lifted his old frame from his chair.

After Elsif had been crowned High Queen after the Legion victory in Skyrim's Civil war, one of her first acts were to reinstate all previous Jarl's to their positions. The victory had been so sudden, that the Eastern Holds were left reeling from the impact, and having new Jarl's that they did not know nor trust simply made the situation worse, so, as long as they swore to remain loyal to Skyrim and the Legion, the previous Jarl's could retake their posts.

''Your Highness,'' croaked Skald. ''I stand with Skyrim and her people. I had no love for Mages before this trial, ad now all I hold for them is contempt. My soldiers are your soldiers, my fortresses are yours also.'' And with that he sat down back into his chair, relieved for the rest. He knew he did not have much longer left, but he did not fear death. Elisif nodded to Jarl Skald in approval, Jarl Idgrod Ravencrone, Jarl of Hjaalmarch stood up. Though she was as old as Skald, and some tales said she was even older, she did not need a stick or support to stand. It was said that her own magics kept her strong. It was no secret that she had visions, or could even cast some spells, but Elisif hoped this would not effect her judgement, but Fornice, Peric and Tolfdir all prayed that this could mean she was sympathetic to them.

''High Queen, I shall support you, but on a condition. Morthal is still being plagued by vampires. We sent you a plea for help, yet you refused us. I lost four good men getting here, and I shall not let any more of them die. Give me the soldiers I need to rid Morthal of this curse, and you can have my armies and lumber.'' Idgrod speaking of vampires reminded Peric of Onmund, and his story in the Longhouse. Peric and Onmund had been close ever since they first came to the College, and Peric hoped beyond hope that he would return and see Onmund and the others again.

Elisif thought for a moment about what Idgrod was asking before responding.

''Very well. You have full control over all Legionnaires stationed in Fort Snowhark, but only until the vampire menace is dealt with.''

''Thank you, your majesty,'' Idgrod said while sitting down. Peric's heart fell. That was just one more enemy to add to the list, but from all he had heard, Jarl Idgrod was a kind, just woman, and it just went to show what desperation could do. If her city was not under attack, then Peric was sure she would have at least shown some sympathy to the College, but desperation does not allow you to think of others.

This pattern repeated itself over and over. Each Jarl proclaimed their allegiance to Elisif, and declared their support to her mission to destroy the College. All the time Fornice, Tolfdir and Peric sat in their chairs, fear emanated from them, as one by one the great leaders of Skyrim condemned them to their fate, yet each one asking a price, a manor in Solitude, a few extra guards, a new watchtower that they don't have funding for. Such small things, considering they condemned a community to death, and all three knew without a shadow of a doubt that Elisif would not rest until they were dead.

It came that only two Jarl's remained. Jarl Korir of Winterhold, and Jarl Laila Law-Giver of the Rift. At this point the mages had satisfied themselves that they and all they loved would be burned, and yet they stayed. The constant presence of the High Queen kept them rooted in place. She had become queen for a reason, she wasn't just a pompous noble who had inherited a dying crown. No. She could manipulate her very being to get exactly what she desired. Right now she was a tall, strong woman with a vice-like grip on the table in front of her, and her very being breathed violence. Fornice knew that at any provocation those long nails would be tearing at her eyes, yet she also knew that at a moments notice High Queen Elisif could become the sweetest dove to ever grace Skyrim, if it suited her.

''Jarl Laila, let's be quick about this. Are you with Skyrim, yes or no?'' Said Elisif, a sense of boredom hanging over her. Jarl Laila looked around. She was not the strongest, nor the most fierce person in that room, but she was far from the weakest. She had fought her way up to Jarldom through Riften's corrupt and dangerous infrastructure casting out the old and tyrannical Jarl and placing her and her family as the new, pure rulers of one of Skyrim's most unstable Holds. She did her best to eradicate crime from her city, but no one actually believed she could, not with a woman like Maven Black-Briar pumping money into the Thieves Guild, yet ever since she became Jarl people felt a lot safer in the streets of their city, as, thanks to Laila's efforts, Riften had one of the largest guard forces in Skyrim, second only to Solitude's.

Laila stood up and looked around at the other Jarls. Her mousy hair was held back by a silver circlet, and a blue, fur-trimmed dress hugged her frame. Her eyes did not betray her thoughts, though her brows were slightly furrowed. Her eyes finally rested on the mages, and Tolfdir could have sworn he saw her give the tiniest of nods.

''My Queen, you do not need my support to launch a successful assault on the College, correct?''

''Correct.''

''Yet you would brand me as a traitor if I did not side with you?''

''Correct.''

''Then I choose to fight for Skyrim, yet, my Queen, I am only with you in spirit. My men are too busy fighting crime in Riften to be sent out to a frozen wasteland to fight mages, and all resources in my hold are needed to care for my people.'' Elisif's eyes narrowed as Laila proclaimed her terms.

''Jarl Laila, I accept your allegiance for now, but you better prove yourself worthy in the future.'' Laila nodded to Elisif but cast a quick glance at the mages before sitting down.

Those tiny gestures, those small acts of defiance by Jarl Laila Law-Giver was all Fornice needed to restart the fire inside her. Moments before, she had given up all hope, yet that tiny nod, that glance the refusal to give troops or resources, and it had all come rushing back. Now the gears in her head were once again turning, and an escape plan forming.

''Jarl Korir.''

''Yes, my Queen?'' Korir said, looking up from his hands that he had clasped on the table.

''You must abolish all ties you have with the College. They are the enemy, and we are the righteous. We shall not harm your town. In fact, it will be a great bastion in the war against the College, so are you with me?'' Every person in that room leaned in so as not to miss a thing. Each one of them knew the stakes here, and whatever Jarl Korir's outcome was, they knew it would be good.

''My Queen, I refuse to believe that you will leave my town unscathed,'' said Korir, standing up to look Elisif in the eye. She had been looking down on him, and he did not like that one bit. ''You will use it as a fortress, and once the mages burn it to the ground you will run back to Solitude and leave my people to starve, but say you do win and my town still stands, then there would be no College, and without the College, why would anyone come to Winterhold? My town would dry up, and my people would die. Whoever wins, my people will perish, so no, your majesty, I will not side with you.'' Fornice sat in shock at Korir's words. Of all the people in the room, she had expected Korir to be Elisif's most loyal supporter, and now that hope inside of her had grown into courage, and a determination to survive.

''Jarl Korir, you do realise that if you side with those monsters, then I will burn your town to the ground, and I will leave your hold to rot anyway?'' Elisif said very slowly. She did not want Korir to complicate things by getting in the way.

''No, you won't, because I won't let you. You underestimate the power that these mages have. I have seen them fight, and I know you're going to have trouble bringing them down, and if they have the armies of Winterhold by their side, then you better make sure you're prepared.''

''Korir, you may have a fortress of mages by your side, but it's still eight holds against one. You _will_ lose, but I tire of this,'' Elisif said turning away from Korir and the mages and turned to face the many guards around the perimeter of the room. ''You heard the Jarl, he is guilty of treason. Detain him and the mages. They will hang tomorrow morn,'' she said with a wave of her hand. As one the guards all drew their steel swords and advanced towards the mages, the sound of steel boots on the stone floor rang through the room, and the light from the candle reflected off of their armour, casting spots of light around the room. On their red uniform, the emblem of Haarfingar, the face of a wolf, stared out at them. They were being surrounded by wolves, and any moment those wolves would pounce.

Everyone around the table jumped up, ready to run if needs be, and Fornice and Korir took a few steps back so that they stood with Peric and Tolfdir. The guards slowly walked forward, and soon they were backed up against the wall, with guards closing in on three sides.

''Peric, this is why you're here,'' said Fornice, keeping her eyes on the guards, watching out for when they pounced.

''Arch-Mage, get ready to run. Watch for my-'' but he was cut off, as two of the guards lunged forward and grabbed him. More soldiers ran forward to grab Tolfdir, Fornice and Korir. Four more guards walked over to them holding Malur and Kai between them who had been backed into a different corner.

''Well, that was easy,'' said Elisif with an evil grin. ''These six traitors will be hanged tomorrow morning in the market. Make sure everyone knows. Take them away.'' Elisif turned to walk out of the hall, glad the whole ordeal was over. The guards started to drag the prisoners away, wanting to get them into the dungeons as fast as possible. Every prisoner started to struggle against and shout at their captors, and Elisif turned around, wanting to see them squirm, but one of them didn't struggle or say a word. Peric simply stood there with a lopsided smile on his face, allowing himself to be taken, but it was when he was in the centre of the room that without warning a great wave of red mist and light burst forth from him, and every guard was enveloped in this light. Within a few seconds it had dissipated but everyone knew something was wrong. In a great frenzy, the guards had dropped their prisoners and had drawn their weapons and were now charging at each other with a great magic-induced fury in their eyes, and a slight red ethereal glow about them. Elisif was too far way for the spell to effect her, so was Bjornrick and the Jarls, but a few of their housecarls and a steward or two had been caught up in the fray, including Jarl Siddgeir of Falkreath's entire platoon of bodyguards.

The motley group from Winterhold wasted no time in running for the door, and while the rest of the room was focused on the unfolding bloodbath, Jarl Laila grabbed Korir's arm and gave him a decisive nod before pushing him out the door.

* * *

Solitude's streets were surprisingly quiet in contrast to the uproar in Castle Dour. The six had emerged into the Imperial Soldier Training Courtyard, one of the worst places they could be, and in a few minutes, every nearby soldier would be hunting them down, so they needed to get out. Fast.

''Afternoon. Can you please tell us which way to the stables?'' Asked Jarl Korir to one of the guards stationed outside with all the calmness in the world.

''Just go through the portcullis to your left and go through the market and out the main gate. Keep following the road, and you can't miss it,'' said the guard who sounded slightly muffled through his full helmet.

The six set off at a brisk pace the way the guard had pointed. They passed the blacksmith who was hammering heavily on an anvil, making what looked like two dozen Legion uniforms, and then they passed down a narrow staircase hanging with moss.

It unnerved them how many guards there were. On every corner stood a man or woman in crimson uniform staring out at the crowd, and every few minutes, a large patrol went through the market, and it was very hard for them not to act suspicious. Of course they knew people would now be persuing them, but if they acted calm, they stood a chance of escape.

They had got half way through the market square when they heard a commotion behind them. They turned around, and out of Castle Dour poured dozens of Legionnaires They needed to get of the city, and to get out fast. They started to push through the people, not even caring if they drew attention to themselves. All of their efforts were now on escape.

Fornice sprinted as fast as she could, knocking whoever stood in her way to the ground, Kai and Malur stood shoulder to shoulder, throwing people aside, Korir shouted at people with all his Nordic fury to step aside, and not a single person argued, but lagging behind was Tolfdir and Peric. Tolfdir being old could not run as fast as the others, and Peric refused to leave the old man, but they were still making good progress with Tolfdir shooting fire into the air to scare people away, and Peric using fear spells at the crowd who would then flee in terror.

In a matter of minutes they had sprinted out of the main gate, the guards after them lost in the crowd, and yet their flight was not over. They still had the road leading down to the stables and the docks to contend with, and that was not going to be easy. The main group waited for Tolfdir and Peric to bound the last few steps before tackling the guard tower that straddled the road. Two guards on top were pointing arrows at the group, while the two guards at the gate drew their swords and charged forward. Kai used the momentum of one of the guards to lift him over his shoulder and drop him on the ground before stomping on his throat. Tolfdir and Fornice shot lightning at the guards on the tower who fired their arrows and took cover behind the stonework. In their haste, the arrows were ill aimed and missed the casters, but the threat of them in the tower was still present. Jarl Korir had drawn his sword and was sharing blows with the second gate guard before Peric froze the guard's sword arm, who was quickly finished off with a stab to the torso by Korir.

''What do we do about the tower guards? We don't 'ave time to wait 'em ou', nor climb the tower after 'em?'' Said Malur.

''We run and hope they don't have a good aim,'' growled Kai before sprinting towards the tower, his long, blonde hair flowing behind him, and his pale blue Winterhold regalia glowing in the noon-day sun. The others looked at each other before running after him, once again Tolfdir and Peric falling behind.

They had just cleared the tower, and were now running away from it when the archers reappeared. They instantly set their sights on the stragglers and readied their bows.

''Come on you two, you need to be faster!'' Shouted Fornice, but there was nothing either Tolfdir nor Peric could do to catch up, and Tolfdir turned his head just as the arrows were released, and out of impulse, he grabbed Peric and shoved the Breton behind him. There was a moment of stillness and shock as everyone stopped to see Tolfdir standing there with two arrow shafts protruding from his chest. Peric stood behind him with his hand over his mouth, almost hyperventilating.

But Fornice knew there was something more. She stood there studying the old man, before her face cracked into a smile. She had seen the pale green light that surrounded Tolfdir.

''Come on, old man, before they reload,'' she called, and Tolfdir dropped his shield spell, and the two arrows fell harmlessly to the ground. He turned to smile at Peric before grabbing his wrist and running after the others.

They rounded a corner, and the stables were in their sights. All they needed to do was run that bit further, and then they would be clear.

_Where's the carriage? _Thought Korir. In fact, none of the carriages brought by the Jarls could be seen.

''They must have been taken up to the city during the Moot. We'll have to find another way,'' said Kai, knowing that everyone was thinking the same thing.

''We have two choices; steal a boat down by the docks,'' said Peric, gesturing to sign that said _Dock_, ''Or we could steal some horses.''

''It's too risky and time consuming to take a ship, and besides, only Kai here knows how to sail, and not through the icy waters near Winterhold,'' said Korir.

''So horses it is. Come on,'' said Fornice, walking towards the stables.

The Solitude Stable, also known as Katla's Farm was empty, as most people were out in the fields tending to crops, and the only life was an old dog lying in the sun, and a couple of hens clucking around him. To the left stood the stable house, and inside were four horses.

''Crap. Looks like we're gonna have to share. Who can't ride?'' Said Kai, and only Peric raised his hand.

''Peric can ride with me,'' said Fornice.

''And Malur, we'll share,'' said Kai, jumping onto a white mare. Korir chose a similar horse and mounted it, while Tolfdir found a mottled horse. Fornice led Peric to a black mare and leapt on gracefully. Peric, with quite a bit of trouble and much help from Fornice, managed to climb onto the mount just as Kai heaved Malur onto his horse.

''We need to get back to Winterhold as soon as possible,'' said Korir. ''So we'll ride hard until we're a good way into Hjaalmarch.''

Everyone agreed, and they sped off just as the guards rounded the corner to the stables.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N I am dreadfully sorry for the huge wait between chapters, but as it happens I have not had access to a laptop for a long, long while. Without further ado I shall now continue with the narrative.**

The water from one of the many stagnant pools that dotted the hold of Hjaalmarch lapped noisily against the hooves of the horses that grumpily splashed and tramped their way through the dirty green swamp. The air hummed with the drone of the thousands of gnats and mosquitoes that flew around the weary group of riders and steeds. They bit both in equal measures, causing great red welts to form all over their bodies. The beasts tried to flick the insects away with their tails, but their sides and underbellies were covered in bites, driving them nearly as insane as their riders who also suffered marks wherever they couldn't swat away the blood suckers.

''Well, this is a mess,'' muttered Fornice while itching a particularly nasty group of welts on her arm.

''These bloody bugs will drive me to the brink if we don't get out of this God's forsaken swamp,'' said Korir, almost falling off his horse as it stepped in a particularly deep pool.

''I meant the whole 'High Queen trying to destroy The College' situation, but no, insects are bad.''

''Well, we'd be quicker on the roads, mi' lady,'' said Malur, turning on his horse to face her.

''If one more person suggests we travel along the roads, I will personally fry them to ashes,'' growled Tolfdir from the rear of the line. ''It is far too dangerous and is sure to be patrolled. I for one would prefer being bitten by gnats than by the edge of a sword.''

''I'd rather take my chances,'' muttered Kai. He was the hardiest out of the group, and he could deal with the bugs and the damp. It was the smell that got to him, the musty, putrid smell of mould and rot that seeped into his clothes and clung at the back of his throat. He wanted nothing more than to be far away from the swamp and to have a nice warm bath.

''Bugs aren't our problem,'' said Fornice. ''Even patrols on the roads aren't. What we've got here is the entirety of Skyrim turned against our pathetic wasteland of a hold, and there's nothing we can do about it.''

''There was a time when Winterhold rivalled Solitude, but you mages went and cast the whole city into the sea, and now your kind has decided the scraps that are left should be burnt to the ground too,'' shouted Korir. His voice echoed through the marshes, and a stunned silence fell over the group. Peric knew that Jarl Korir held a grudge against mages, and that he blamed them for the state that Winterhold was in, but after everything that happened in the Moot he thought he had changed, or even all the things said about him were lies.

''Jarl Korir, you don't mean that, or else you would never have sided with us in the Moot,'' said Tolfdir gently.

''I did it not for you but for my city. Do not forget that.'' A shadow fell across his face. The contempt he felt now seeped back into the light. He knew full well without the mages Winterhold would now die, and he hated them for it. No decent Nord should have to rely upon their filth.

"Whether you like it or not, Korir," spat Fornice. "We're branded for the same crimes now. There is no use being a bigoted arse about it now."

"How dare you? I am your Jarl!" Roared Korir, stopping his horse to turn and face Fornice with fire in his eyes.

"We are all brothers and sisters in crime now. Even Peric here is equal to you. Aren't you, Peric?'' said Fornice with a smile. Peric just looked up at her without saying anything but gave a slow, shaky nod after a few moments. Fornice turned around to face Korir, and while her back was turned Peric leant around behind her and shone a beaming smile to Korir, remembering the conversation they had had the previous night. The Jarl stared at the boy for a second before his face cracked into a wide smile, and soon he was laughing, bellowing even. Fornice didn't know what was so funny and turned to face Peric who only offered a shrug while hiding a smile of his own.

"Well, Queen of Mages, you may be right there. I still don't trust spell-slingers, but I'm stuck with you, so you may as well be useful to us and help me win this bloody war you dragged us into,'' he chuckled. No one could tell how much was humour, but his light mood was better than one of his rages by a long shot.

"You actually think we can win this war, sir?'' asked Malur.

"By The Nine, of course I bloody don't! But we can give it our best shot,'' said Korir.

Fornice said: "I don't know. The College is a superb fortress, and we have hundreds of mages on our side. We might just stand a chance.''

''But I don't know how reliable you lot are. Sure, you're not total cowards. You took on that dragon pretty well, but we're up against armies. You may turn tail and flee when the horns of war ring out."

"We'll do no such thing!" blurted Peric who then shied away as attention turned to him.

"You sure about that, lad?" asked Kai with a grin.

"Well, yes. I know that we can defend our home like any soldier, and we wield twice as much power as them at least. Besides, we have our backs against the wall. There's nowhere we can run."

"A cornered rat's a dangerous rat as they say," said Korir, not one to pass up and insult.

Several minutes of silence followed with only the squelch of mud to break it, but then they heard Fornice whisper: "Queen of Mages. I like that."

* * *

Several hours of trudging through stinking bogs and stagnant pools turned the marsh into solid ground covered in a thick layer of snow, much to the relief of the company. They could handle snow and ice. Most of them were born to it, and the rest had pretty much grown to accept it as what most of Skyrim was; cold, bare and lifeless.

"Thank the bloody Nine for that! I don't think this poor beast could handle much more of that,'' said Kai, patting his horse affectionately. He had grown quite attached to the beast. Despite it having walked through the worst Skyrim had to offer, none of the horses protested, and they only plodded further onwards. Solitude could be faulted for many things but the breed of their horses was not one of them.

"Come on, we'll rest here for a while,'' said Korir, jumping off his horse. His boots made a soft crunch as they landed in the snow. "We'll have to clear these tracks when we leave," he said.

Fornice gracefully slid off her horse into the snow, a light dusting of it already sticking to the hem of her cloak. Compared to her, Peric practically fell off the horse. He lay sprawled in the snow for a few moments, his robes like a stubborn patch of autumn trying to push through winter. Fornice shook her head and helped him to his feet and let out a small giggle at the state of him. Snow was plastered to his back and the side of his face, making his right side turn numb. He quickly brushed as much of it off before it could melt and soak his clothes.

"Does anyone have a bloody clue where we are?" asked Kai, looking around for a landmark, but all he could see was a snow covered pine forest to his left and dark, craggy mountains to his right, its shadow cast over them like a dark omen.

"North-East of Morthal, near a mountain pass that will lead us into The Pale. From there we'll need to evade Skald's men before making our way to Winterhold. I have men stationed in a watch tower just inside the border. We can rest there for a while. There's no food. It's a wasteland after all," said Korir, brushing snow off a rock and sitting on it.

"This whole bloody Province is," muttered Peric before deciding to take a walk to stretch his legs after the long ride on the horse.

_What have we done? Now Onmund, Brelyna, J'zargo; every person I have ever met may end up being killed. I will end up being killed. I'm not afraid of death, just dying. Watching the world slip past me like that, watching everything I love fade away. I don't want that. Love. That's a strange word to use. I've never loved. I mean, not in the sex sense. Damn that's lonely. Onmund and Brelyna better be in love. I want them to be happy before the end. No. Peric. Stop. We may well win this. There's only one way in the College and one way out, which is the narrowest bridge they could've possibly built. No army could hope to get across it. Not with all sorts of spells and arrows being shot at them._

He stood several feet away from the group, near the horses. He turned away from the others who were sat on the ground in a circle. He walked towards the horses, patting the one he had ridden affectionately on the nose. The horse snorted and nudged into his hand. He'd never ridden a horse before, but he kind of liked it.

"You alright there girl? I'm sorry I don't have any food, but once we get home I'll make sure to bring you as many apples as you want. How does that sound?'' The horse only snorted in response.

"Stop talking to the horses, boy and come sit with us." Peric turned around and saw Kai beckoning him over. Peric trudged towards the others and took his place in the circle.

"We'll need allies of course," said Tolfdir. "Us mages and a handful of soldiers aren't going to stop the armies of Skyrim.

"One problem with that: There is no other hold on our side!" exclaimed Korir.

"I wouldn't be so sure of that," said Peric. "Jarl Laila didn't exactly approve of Elisif's decision. She is their weak link."

"Oh, I wouldn't call her weak. Not in the least. She was strong to defy Elisif, however slight. When the time comes, she will be with us. I am sure of it," said Fornice with enough certainty to half convince the gathered party.

"Even with 'er highness, it's no' enough to take on the other holds. They still 'ave us beat three to one nearly," said Malur.

Before anybody could respond, they heard a movement. Each of them cast their eyes towards the snow covered rocks near the mountains, but they couldn't see anything except that dazzling snow and comparatively jet rocks.

Kai drew his sword. "Can't any of you mages see what's there? I don't want anything getting me while my back's turned."

"I'm on it," said Tolfdir. He slowly lifted his left hand in front of his face. A few seconds later a purple haze began to seep from his fingertips. It filled up the air in front of him until you could hardly see his face, apart from two glowing points penetrating the mist. Those points could see into you. Those points could see right through you.

Suddenly the haze was gone, and Tolfdir was once more the sweet old man, all apart from the confusion on his face.

"There's something about eight feet tall heading right for us, but," and he paused, scanning the area. "But I don't see anything." The group turned, and the wasteland was as empty as ever. Nothing stirred. There was no footprint. There was no sign of life.

"Tolfdir, you're going crazy old man," said Kai, but before he could laugh at his own joke, the snow moved. It exploded outwards right under his feet. He was sent flying several feet before he hit the snow hard. He would've certainly been hurt bad if it was on solid ground.

Eight foot of rippling muscle and bleached fur stood in front of Korir. Its massive paws bore yellowing talons, and its maw dripped a retched mix of saliva and bile from between needle like yellow fangs. It dripped onto the snow to freeze into a sickly yellow mess. Each of its three eyes swivelled independently. Its wiry framed clung to the bone, and muscle shot out from the skin. The troll looked like it hadn't eaten in weeks, and had a half crazed look about it.

It lashed out and gave a sudden swipe at Korir who fell to the ground with a deep gash on his face. He struggled to get back up again, but the troll kicked him with a clawed foot, and Korir was sent rolling several feet. Blood seeped from a tear in his once luxurious, but now travel stained cloak.

Peric backed himself away from the troll. He had never seen anything so repulsive. It wasn't so much the looks, but the stench almost made him heave. The smell of rotting flesh, and putrefied meat would haunt him for many years. He would gladly soak himself in swamp water before tackling a troll.

The troll in its hunger induced craze turned away from the group and charged with more speed than any of the others thought possible towards the horses. It let out a hollow cry that grew in pitch as it grew in volume, until it let out a shriek that pierced through the group's skulls.

"Fornice, do something!" shouted Tolfdir. The horses were still tethered to a rock, and despite their desperate attempts to free themselves, the ropes would not snap. They reared and neighed in fear, but the troll was pounding towards them, fists and feet slapping on the ground, propelling it ever onwards.

"What can I do? Trolls don't respond well to magic, and its wounds would simply close up moments after they're made." The troll had reached the first of the horses and had bit into its neck. The horse let out a terrible scream and tried to kick out, but the troll plunged its claws into its flank over and over, until blood stained the snow, and the horse lay dead atop it.

"There must be something," said Peric, desperately trying to wrack his brains while another horse was clawed apart. "Frost. No, that won't work. Must have some resistance. Shock would work, but could take too long. I don't even think a calm spell could work on a creature that starving." The second horse now lay in the snow, its left flank bloody and mutilated. It let out small screams and ragged gasping breaths before its throat was slit. "Shit. Come on, come on. Must be something."

"Fire," said a voice behind them. They turned to see Malur looking at them with shocked realisation lighting up his wrinkled and twisted face. His red eyes glowed bright with the light of a hopeful idea "Trolls are weak to fire! Go on, hurry!" he said, shoving Peric a step or two towards the troll.

Three fireballs found their mark. The troll let out a shriek of pain as its fur burst into bright flames, and its skin started to bubble and melt. The blast had also burnt through part of the rope holding the horses, and the remaining two bolted towards the forest. No one could hope to catch them and could only stand there and watch their rides leave without them. The troll now writhed on the floor. It arched its back and flailed its limbs in pain as the last of its body was consumed by fire.

"Poor girl. She was hungry that's all," said Fornice.

"Don't feel sorry for her," said Peric. "She just cost us our horses."

"I can't help it. You know, she probably ate her own children before getting to that stage."

"I don't give a Skeever's hide. We now have to walk, and I don't know about you, but the sooner we get to a warm tavern the better," said Korir, who was holding his side while helping a dizzy Kai to his feet.

"Korir! Let me heal you. That gash looks bad," said Fornice rushing over to him and placing her hands on his stomach.

"No, it's fine, really." But a golden glow was already rising from the two of them and started to swirl around them. Kai could feel the warmth radiate off of it, and even he started to feel a bit better. Korir's flesh started to slap back together, causing him quite a bit of pain, but he just grit his teeth and bit into his long, brown beard. Soon the muscle and skin was only throbbing a dull red.

"Well, now that's sorted we better get a move on. I want to be within Winterhold as soon as possible," said Korir striding along the wasteland towards The Pale.

"He likes to forget I can easily rip him open again," laughed Fornice sadistically and strolled gracefully after him, followed shortly by the others. Tolfdir grumbled about his 'poor old legs' before starting at a quick trot, bringing up the rear.


End file.
